


Blackcap Lake

by StrangeOccurrence



Category: IT (1990), IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Adult Losers Club (IT), Adventure, Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Angst, Bunkers, Derry (Stephen King), Falling In Love, Future Fic, I'd expect anyway idk, Love, Major Character Injury, Post-Apocalypse, Slow Burn, Survival, Young Adult Losers Club (IT), will add to this!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 15:27:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 38,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28922832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrangeOccurrence/pseuds/StrangeOccurrence
Summary: Richie, Mike, Stan, Bev, Ben, and Bill are living in an abandoned base by Blackcap Lake. One day, they find a stranger by the water. They bring him back to their bunker, and slowly they are forced to face a new reality.(Some of them also fall in love)
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 41
Kudos: 34





	1. Old Maine Welcome

**Author's Note:**

> [this is my first draft and I don't have a beta so! idk we're winging it]

“Water, Stan?”

“Hold on, please.”

“Roger.”

There was a long pause. 

“Hello? Water check?” Richie said again. 

“We said hold, motherfucker.”

Richie groaned, squinting at the ancient, mildew-spotted pressure gauges. His flashlight refracted off the glass and threw splintered lights over the curved walls of the tunnel. His walkie cracked. He hovered his finger over his talk button expectantly. 

“Water should be at three-five-oh.” Stan’s voice came at last.

“Three-five-oh, affirmative. Oxygen backup? Last one, boys, make it quick please and thank you. Starting to reek down here.”

Richie’s gas mask was digging into his neck. Its strap was wearing thin, and if the elastic broke he’d have to use an old belt. He fiddled with the fraying edges. That was a problem for another day. 

“Mikey saw a opossum run towards the hatch last month. Might have died in a grate? We should probably do a sweep.”

“O2 check, please Stan.” Richie yelled into his walkie. He immediately regretted it. His voice volleyed off the concrete and battered his eardrums. “And that’s weird. Dead opossum smells just like your mom’s hairy-“

“Oxygen stable at five-sixty?” Stan interrupted him briskly. 

“Five-sixty-one. We got it. That’s a wrap on the cooch drain!”

“Come back up.” Stan said. “Keep comms clear until airlock.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m being silenced as usual.”

“Waxwing out.”

“Corncrake out.” Ben said. The line crackled. “Stan, do I really have to still be Corncrake? I hadn’t seen the whole book when we were choosing our names.“

“Clear the comm, Ben.” Stan said. “Waxwing and Corncrake over and out.” 

Richie smiled to himself as he did an about face and began down the tunnel to the ladder. 

“Warbler out. See you at home, fellas.” Richie clipped his walkie to his belt and clasped the first rung of the ladder. He glanced back into the darkness, his flashlight barely covering ten feet. The gauges were out of sight already. He pulled his mask over his nose and began to climb.

The ladder was long, and Richie had been skipping Gym. Something broke inside him after Christmas. Bill running the sessions hadn’t helped. It had been more fun when it was Bev. She included more yoga. Richie liked yoga. It was basically sitting but you get out of breath if you do it right. All Bill ever knew how to do was squats.

Richie looked up at the coin-sized point of light above him. Deep reds striping its surface. The sun was setting overground. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen more than thin slices of sky at once. 

“Coming home.” he muttered to himself. 

***

“They back yet?” Richie spun the airlock shut. 

“Not yet.” Ben’s voice came from the bathroom. “Richie, will you please look at these pipes. I know you’d be able to fix them if you-“

“Nope!” Richie said. “I’m not wading around in more sewage today. We don’t need a plumbing system anyways. I told you I’m gucci to shit in the woods.”

“You want an irradiated asshole?” Bev said from behind a huge engineering manual planted over both of her knees. “Because that’s how you irradiate your asshole.”

“Anything to feel something, Marsh.” He said. He threw his pack onto the pegboard. It missed his peg and clattered to the floor. He left it there and breezed into the kitchen. 

“You wouldn’t feel much for long.” She muttered. 

“Hey, we don’t know how bad it is out there.” He said from behind the fridge door. “If Stan the Man ever let us off the leash maybe we’d discover our assholes could have been reigning free in the woods for years.”

“It’s not just Stan. This is why we vote on things, so you don’t march outside naked and kill yourself just to take a nature dump.”

“Well, you know my vote.” Richie came back into the central chamber and sat in the armchair. It was their only item of actual furniture besides the couch, which was in the observatory. The bunker was old. It was built before the war. Whatever family owned the land had kept it up to regulation, at least. There were radiation filters. The glass was nano-crystalized. They had three scanning stations for particle analysis. All the piping had been in order when they arrived, almost three years ago to the day. 

Besides that, though, the place had been bland. Utilitarian. The observatory’s book cases were bare besides two atlases, a wildlife book from Old Maine and some history essays. It seemed clear that no-one had been planning on using it. No one really expected the war by the time it actually came. 

Ben emerged from the bathroom, sleeves rolled past his elbows and boiler pants tucked into a pair of goulashes. 

“How’s it going?” Bev asked. 

“It’s not.” Ben said, crouching by the radiator and exhaling. “It’s fucking freezing in there and there is piss literally all over the floor. Everywhere.”

“Do you think we need to cycle the septic?”

“Not yet. I don’t want it to pump any more... crap back into the bathroom.” He said. “Mike was worried about the, uh- how close the septic system is to the irrigation, too. If any more of the pipes crack then we’ll have a contamination issue.”

“Mm.” Bev said. “Cross that bridge when we get there?”

“Definitely.” Ben peeled off a thick pair of gloves. “I’ll get back to it after dinner. Is Stan back?”

“Where did he go?” Richie asked, biting into a baby tomato. 

“He’s at the crowsnest again, listening for Bill and Mike.”

“D'you think he heard from them today?” Richie said. 

Ben checked his watch. 

“The time window’s closing.” He said. Bev sighed deeply and closed her book. She shifted it up onto the table with a gritty scrape.

“Stan’s giving them one more day before we’re allowed to ‘really panic’.” Bev made finger quotes. Ben winced. 

“That’s…”

“Relax.” Richie swivelled so his long legs hung over the arm of the chair. “Remember when they got held up for a week because Mike thought he could get that tractor running?”

“It was the middle of winter.” Bev said with a small smile. Ben didn’t look entirely reassured. “I think that was when Bill realised how crazy Mike was.” 

“Yeah and he discovered his gigantic boner for Crazy.” Richie muttered.

“I’ll feel better when they’re back.” Ben said.

On cue, the intercom roared from the wall. The three of them stared at its small greenish interface, nailed in place by four rusty pins.

Richie was on his feet before Bev. He held down the third button, which was glowing. 

“Waxwing?” He said.

“Back… airlock…” came the broken up response, interrupted by static.

“He’s out of range.” Richie muttered. Bev and Ben had joined him. They all stared at the intercom like it could help them. “He has to know that he’s not close enough.”

"Something's wrong." Ben said. 

“Waxwing, come in?” Bev nudged Richie’s hand aside and pressed the button. There was a long second of empty air, the dips and cracks of the channel falling hard in the silence. 

“Come in, Waxwing?” Bev tried again. 

“-and I need you to put first aid in the big airlock. Can you hear me? The big airlock, not ... one...”

“Go again, Waxwing. The line’s not clear. Over.” Bev said. 

“First aid. Back airlock.” Stan said. Another voice cut under his.

“Copy.” Richie said, striding over to the peg board to pick up his belt. “Marsh, let’s go.” He clipped his walkie to the chain around his waist. 

“Ten-twenty? Are the others with you? Over.” Ben was saying, face close to the intercom, as Bev and Richie hurried out of the room. 

“That doesn’t sound good.” Bev said. She unlocked the store closet and Richie began to punch in the code for the back hall of the bunker. There were three rooms in the back of the bunker, a second, larger airlock than their ‘front door’, a bedroom with two fold-out cots, and a bland cell of a room with a concrete bookcase set into the wall. The back entrance opened out into the expanse of forest. The front entrance led to the septic tank, the hatch to the tunnel, and the greenhouse, which was a block-like structure with no windows. It was hemmed inside a series of concrete bollards buried deep into the soil, and it had a generator parked beside it to power the UV lights inside. A bundle of pipes and wires emerged from its top like strange mechanical straws, carrying water and electricity into the shelves of potatoes, leeks, beets and tomatoes they had growing inside. 

Beyond the greenhouse, just out of sight form the bunker’s visored windows, was the lake. 

The door to the back rooms hissed open and Richie held it as Bev rushed through, arms full of zipped canvas pouches.

“If one of them is dead-“

“No one’s dead.” Bev said. "Stan wouldn't be wasting resources if anyone was dead." Richie wrinkled his nose and nodded. He pulled the door closed behind him. He didn’t turn the hydraulic. Down the corridor, they repeated the process, punching the code into the pad on the airlock door. He deposited the first-aid bags onto the polished white shelf next to three wound up hose pipes. 

“Okay.” Richie exhaled. “Let’s wait out there.” 

They got back onto the other side and sealed the door, peered through the arc-shaped window. The outer door of the airlock had a narrower window near the top, only revealing a strip of trees and the dying light of the evening. They wouldn’t see anyone approaching through it until they were right up against the door. 

Richie’s walkie began to beep. 

“Oh.” He flipped the dial and it hissed. 

“Warbler.” Stan’s voice came through stronger than before.

“Waxwing! Good to hear you. Ten-twenty? Over.” 

“Quarter mile. Be with you shortly. Hoses go?” 

Richie raised an eyebrow at Bev. 

“Had some problems, captain?” Richie said. Bev squatted at the control panel near the floor and after a short inspection, gave Richie a thumbs up. “Hoses are go. Anything else?” 

“Shortly. Waxwing out.” The walkie settled into empty static again. Richie didn’t flip the dial off. A creak came from behind them and they both turned to see Ben coming down the hall. 

“Did you hear anything?” Ben said. “I’m not getting them on intercom anymore.”

“Yeah, they were just on channel two. They want the hoses.” Bev said, still crouching, elbows slung over her knees. 

Ben’s concern was settled over his face. He nodded. 

“We better be ready, then.” He said quietly. Bev got to her feet and the three of them fixed their eyes on the slot of outside they could see through the airlock door. 

***

The three of them stood there for over fifteen minutes. The walkie stayed live, hissing away in Richie's hand. Bev periodically crouched to inspect the panel of switches. She flicked the water supply on and off again, listening closely for the gurgle in the pipes. 

"What if it's contaminated?" she said quietly to Ben. 

"Then they get hosed with shit." Richie said loudly. Ben closed his eyes and shook his head at Bev.

"It's not."

There was another long stretch of quiet before the airlock door suddenly squeaked. The three of them jumped to attention. Richie pushed on the handle of the inner wheel to make sure the seal was tight. 

"That better be you, fuckhead." Richie said into the walkie. 

"When was the last time we checked the hydraulics on that door?" Ben said under his breath. The wheel on the outer door squeaked, but didn't give. 

"It's us." Stan's voice came in clear over the radio. Bev exhaled heavily. Richie looked at her.

"I was kidding." he said. "You really think it was gonna be someone else? We're literally, like, the last people alive on Earth."

"Shut up, Richie." She said. She pulled the walkie from his hand and said

"Is the door stuck? We didn't check it since last season?" 

Before anyone could respond, the wheel gave a final squeal, and began to turn. It rotated once, twice, a quick third and forth time, and then the airlock was flooded with pink evening light. 

In the doorway, Mike, Stan and Bill. 

And between Mike and Bill, a fourth person. 

Richie, Ben and Bev had their faces against the window before anyone could move. They stared as Stan pointed to the white bench, and Mike and Bill staggered inside with the stranger. They placed him next to the first aid kits and Stan sealed the door behind them. The airlock flushed immediately, a sharp rush and then quiet. Everyone on either side of the airlock was briefly unified, silently counted to ten. Then Mike, Bill and Stan were ripping their masks off. Bill took the stranger's off for him, revealing wide brown eyes and greasy hair. 

"What the fuck, Stan!" Richie said into the radio. "No, seriously. What the fuck?" he gestured to Bev, who was ignoring him. Stan wasn't paying attention to the radio. Bill and Mike stood back and Stan was going for the hose.

"They're not bringing him in here." Ben said. Now he was looking to Bev. "Stan couldn't have okayed that. Who the fuck is he?" 

The man was short, and covered in dirt. Even under his mask, his skin was filthy. Water sputtered out of the two thick pipes, coiling like snakes from the two-headed faucets above the bench. The stranger barely flinched as Stan spun the taps and two wide streams of fast water rammed into his chest. Once the pressure had tapered to a more reasonable flow, Bill and Mike began to move them methodically down his body. Every so often they instructed him- the sounds were swallowed through the iron door- but he obeyed; wiping his face with the towel they offered, lifting his arms and legs for the water to reach his whole body. Trails of dirt and sticks cascaded onto the cream tile floor. He sat there, his closed eyes the only acknowledgement of the water splashing up around him. 

As the dirt fell away, it was more apparent that his clothes were somewhat protective. He had thick plastic-lined dungarees and boots. There was no free skin below his face, but there was a tear on the lower leg of his pants. 

Stan watched on with his hands on his hips. He caught Richie's eye and motioned with a swift wave of his hand that they should move back from the door. Richie hesitated, watching the water gush off the stranger sitting in their airlock. 

"Guys." he said haltingly when Stan raised an eyebrow. "Let's go back through." he said. 

"What?" Ben said. Bev was still peering through the door.

"Stan wants us to fall back." Richie said. 

He stole a final glance through the glass. Bill was turning off the taps. Greyish water continued to slip towards the long, iron drains once the flow stopped. Stan was removing his overalls and reaching, businesslike, for one of the first aid kits. 

***

They sat in the kitchen in silence, listening to the distant sound of movement in the back of the bunker. Richie was back in his chair, but he sat relatively normally. Bev was in her corner at the kitchen table. Ben hovered in the archway joining the kitchen to the central chamber. Finally, the squeak and click of the back door floated through from the hall. They were all up and in the doorway at once.

Stan came through first, walking by as if it was any other day. Mike followed, smiling tiredly at Richie, who threw his arms up in disbelief. Finally, Bill emerged with the stranger. He was dressed in one of their spare boiler suits. Its arms and legs were too long, dragging over his limbs like he was a poorly dressed doll. He looked around at them as if he'd just landed on the planet for the first time.

"That is what you call an Old Maine Welcome." Bill said awkwardly. Richie stared at them. It was refreshing in a certain way, to see Bill looking uncomfortable around someone. Awkwardness becomes something of a rare phenomenon when you live in a concrete box with the same five people for three years. He patted the man on the shoulder once they reached the central chamber.

"What is this?" Richie pointed at him. The stranger caught his eye, and the outraged monologue died in Richie's throat. 

"Bill and Mike found him by the water." Stan said, hanging his belt and radio on the peg board. "He was alone. He needed help." 

"Oh yeah, we're really in the charitable business here, Stannie." Bev said. She stepped towards the stranger. He flinched and she withdrew again. 

"The water!" Ben said. "He's probably fucking toxic, Stan. He shouldn't be in here at all!"

"We checked him. He's neutral, he's safe." Stan said mildly. "We're going to make him at home. And-" he said quickly, sensing Ben's indignation. "We can talk about plans at our meeting this evening." he said. "You people have forgotten how to be polite."

Bill moved off to follow Mike. 

"End of the world'll do that to you." Bev said, sounding resigned. She sat at the bench again, her eyes fixed on the stranger.

"You two." Richie said, rounding on Bill and Mike them as they pulled plates from the kitchen cabinets. "Don't think we forgot you went AWOL. What's the deal?"

"He couldn't walk." Mike said. "Took longer than we thought to get back. No news from the North. No settlements. No supplies. Nothing." he said. 

"Rich." Bill said, exhaustion thick in his voice. "Can we take ten minutes? We'll tell you everything at the meeting." 

Richie scowled in response. Then his gaze drifted back over to the stranger, standing in the middle of the room. He didn't look uncomfortable. Curious, maybe. His eyes met Richie's again and suddenly Richie felt the need to go for a jog.

"Whatever, you fucks. Don't come crying to me if we get some gnarly cancer because you wanted to make a new friend." he passed the stranger hurriedly and locked himself in his room. He needed a moment alone. To think.


	2. Names

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short one but I want to put it on the end of chapter one so :) I have written more than this today but it's all parts that are going later.

The sun rose and beat down onto the bunker from clear skies the next morning.

The meeting the night before had not been conclusive. Stan refused to close the hatch of the observatory, so they all had to keep their voices down. They’d all seen the movies growing up. Stranger has something weird going on, ends up killing everyone. Yada yada.

The moon hit the thick glass domed roof as they all settled on the floor, except Stan. Stan sat on the couch with their tablet. It was an old one, maybe mid twenty-first century. The charging port was scraped up and it didn’t work without a physical power cable, which ran over Stan’s knees, across the green velvet and into the extension port in the bookcase. There were two, slightly newer tablets knocking around the bunker, but they were saved for important things. They had more reliable storage, so that was where they recorded their medical files, engineering diagrams and the bunker readings. The one in Stan’s hand, small and black, was for note taking. It was for recipes and sketching and making tiny figures out of ‘emojis’. It had scuffs and chips on its titanium shell. Stan held a stylus over its screen.

“Meeting in session.” He said softly.

Everyone except Mike raised their hand.

“Bev.” Stan pointed with the tip of his stylus.

“Yeah, uh, what the fuck were you thinking?” She said.

“This was the first live person we’ve seen since leaving Derry.” Mike said. “He needed us, so we helped him.”

Bev raised a questioning eyebrow at Stan, who nodded, then pointed to Richie.

“I’ve seen you vet literal fruit and vegetables harder than you did with this guy. What happens when he inevitably murders us all?”

“This is real life. If we need to take care of him we can do that when the time arises.” Stan said.

“Did he say anything?” Bev asked.

“He doesn’t talk.” Mike said.

“Oh, cool.” Muttered Richie.

“What about you, Bill?” Ben said. “You haven’t said much.”

Bill looked up from the floor, where he’d been frowning at a crack in the concrete.

“Oh.” He said. “Yeah, uh. I don’t know. He was hurt. He had a big cut down his side. It’s what I would have wanted if someone found me.”

“And we just have to live with him now?” Richie said. “We all fucking knew each other when we came here. If he’s not dangerous but he, like, sucks, what the fuck do we do then?”

“Richie.” Stan said in a measured voice that made Richie’s skin boil, like he was a dog getting scolded for chewing the curtains. “When we were hurt, or hungry, or terrified, we did it as a group. This man was completely alone.”

Stan was addressing everyone, now. Richie slouched against the desk. It was a metal one sprayed with white paint. It had a locker welded between the left two legs, and a wide but unforgivingly rigid chair attached to it by two oblong pipes. Whoever built the thing was not a skilled craftsman.

Early on, Bev sewed a few of their torn boiler suits together and stuffed them with rice. Richie called them ‘the sand bags’. They were not comfortable, but they were better than the flat, ridged aluminium surface of the chair. Last winter, their potato crop died so they had to eat the rice. Now the remains of the sand bags lay, in sad beige, blue and lavender patches, over the seat.

The observatory was everyone’s, but it was mainly Stan and Mike who used it. During the day it was their office. They workshopped the bunker’s problems and, rarely, argued loudly from up there; their voices ringing down the ladder into the hall. If you were eating lunch in the chamber, you could hear them.

In the evenings it was a living room. The moon pouring down through the dome, and Stan peering right back up at her through the standing telescope. Sometimes Mike joined him and they took turns, tapping out notes on the tablet. Bev and Richie watched their ration of movies on one of the other tablets. They used to have a computer, but a particularly heated evening in the chamber led to its disassemblement. No one besides Richie had the skill to put it back together, and what Richie had in skill he lacked in discipline. Its corpse sat, dismembered, at the back ofthe store closet.

The meeting went on as you might expect, for a long while. Bill didn't say a lot. Mike answered most of the questions Bev, Richie and Ben aimed at Stan; and they concluded that they'd try to take care of the stranger until he was able to leave, or at least explain himself to them. 

Before the meeting, they'd shown Eddie into the Back, and Bev set him up with sheets on one of the cots. He didn't emerge again until the following morning, when he sat very calmly amongst them for breakfast, and remained in the chamber at the kitchen table after everyone dispersed to do chores. Later in the morning, Richie, Ben and Bev were in the observatory again. It was only when Bev mentioned a sparrow she saw through her window that the idea came to Richie. 

Without a word, he volleyed down the ladder into the hall. It clanged as he hopped off it. On either side of him was the airlock and the door to the Back. Beside that, the store closet. In front of him the archway through to the chamber. They always kept that door open while they were awake and inside.

Next to that, the corridor to the bunks. Richie started down the hall, whipping into Stan’s room while the sound of boots on the ladder tapped metallically behind him. Stan’s bunk was neat. The sack-like blanket folded at the end of the cot, held up by two diagonal hydraulics on the wall. The cots folded away when out of use. Stan kept his down, but Ben had a habit of reorganising his entire cabin each night. He would wake up, take his blanket, sheet and pillow from the cot and fold it into the wall. He had a metal crate on which he spread the blanket and Pillow neatly. He usually balled up the sheet and kept it inside the crate. Sometimes, though, he placed it folded on the floor and sat there playing chess with himself, or with Bev if the mood took her.

Richie wasn’t so organised. He woke up, sometimes tossed the blanket into a semblance of order, but usually didn’t. Then he closed the door on his room and forgot it existed until he collapsed into his cot again that night.

Stan’s cabin, now, was as expected. Tidy. Serene. Even in the shadow of the evening, Stan's cabin was comforting. Richie didn’t usually like the way the bunker looked at night. Humans, he was sure, were not meant to live in concrete boxes.

He went under Stan’s pillow and grabbed the bird book.

“Richie.” Stan’s voice echoed down the hall. “You're in my cabin, aren't you? I told you not to go in there.”

Richie was out again and pushing past Stan, who was emerging from the Back with a tablet wedged under his arm. Richie went into the kitchen. The stranger was sitting at the far side of the table, staring down at his hands. Richie thought he looked tense beneath the rough waxed canvas of the boiler suit.

Richie slammed Stan’s book down in front of him.

“If you’re staying, you better choose a name.” He said.

The stranger looked up at him. Maybe an edge of startled to his eyes, but they were constantly saucer-wide. It was hard to tell. He tipped his head minutely and made a simple gesture in the air, two fingers pressed together moving in a wave.

“He can communicate!” Richie said to the room. Stan had followed him. Ben was still making his way down the ladder. They all gathered in the doorway, watching Richie and the stranger. No one looked hugely surprised. “Hold on, bud.” Richie snapped his fingers at Stan, who maintained an air of controlled disappointment in Richie’s direction. “Tablet!” Richie said.

Stan was slow to oblige, but Mike reached over and gently took it from his hands.

“It’s about to die.” Mike said, clicking on the Home button and passing it to Richie along with the stylus.

“Make it quick, then.” Richie said to the stranger, placing the tablet on top of the book.

The stranger looked between them, then carefully picked up the stylus. He knew how the tablet worked without explanation, which was strangely comforting and unsettling to Richie.

He considered it for a moment, like maybe he hadn’t seen one in a while. His forefinger brushed up and down the smooth surface of the screen. Then he clicked on the app with a Paintbrush icon. He hesitated once more when a picture of a boat. Digital paint lines in a thick, stylised formation. The stranger looked to Richie, who shrugged. He tapped a button to the side, clicked ‘save’ when the screen prompted him, and then a new white canvas materialised under his hands.

Without any more hesitation, he put the rubber tip of the stylus to the screen, and in one motion, wrote a word.

He held it up to Richie first, then stretched his arm further towards the group in the doorway.

“Eddie.” Richie said. Eddie smiled at him. Bev and Ben echoed it. Stan just nodded.

“I always liked that name. I called one of my stuffed animals Eddie as a kid.” Said Bev.

“Eds.” Richie said. Eddie’s smile dropped. Richie grinned. “Great.” He leant forward and snatched the tablet and stylus out of Eddie’s hands. “You’re not getting out of your codename! Open her up.” Richie tapped a finger to the book.

“And make it good, ‘cause once you’ve picked you’re stuck with it. Oh, and before you get excited, you can’t have the dirty ones. I know you’re a Tit man- I can see that about you- but we got a censorship problem, I’m afraid. I wanted to be Pecker, but this flock of joy-kills wouldn’t allow it. Regular dictator-style leadership in this here basecamp. You’d’a been better out there in the wilds, in my opinion. Sta-lin, more like Sta-Lan, am I right?”

“Shut _up_ , Rich.” Bev said. “I don’t want another lecture on Sino-Soviet power dynamics or whatever.” She gave Stan a side-glance. Eddie’s wide eyes fell onto her. They lingered there for a long while after Richie started monologuing again about the suppression of his individuality. The others edged further into the chamber as he rattled off an abridged list of times he had been forbidden to integrate obscenity into daily life at the bunker.

“Yeah, well.” Bev interrupted him, sitting down on the other side of the bench from Eddie. “Sometimes group living requires compromise. You’ve always been welcome to fuck off and go it alone.“

Richie gaped at her dramatically. Ben had his fingers at his temple, leaning against the airlock. 

“Hey, Eds, you’ll be on my side, won’t you? I have no allies in this regime.”

Eddie looked back at Richie. And he might have been almost smiling. It was hard to say. He turned back to the book in front of him and inspected the cover. A moment of quiet fell over the room.

It was an old book, one of the ones left in the observatory when they arrived. The title ‘The Wilds of Maine’ curled over a photo of an autumn lake. Red and orange trees underneath a cool blue sky. A murmuration caught mid-dip. Their shape a giant tear-drop disappearing out of frame. It was a hardcover, with delicate pages and illustrations; and thick, with over seven hundred pages. The corners were frayed, and there were smudges on Stan’s favourite chapters. But he kept it in very good condition. It was hardly changed from when they found it, nothing but an abandoned library book in a forgotten bunker.

Eddie turned the first page. It was a soft movement. He paid attention to the title page, and peered dutifully at the acknowledgements. Richie had grown tired of the same nine books they had in the bunker, but it occurred to him as he watched Eddie turn another page with deliberate care, that he may not have seen a book in a long time.

“You pick a name out of any of the birds.” Richie said. “Don’t you go thinking you can be a cute little bunny or something. This is a bird household.”

“Richie.” Bill said. Richie shut his mouth. Bev leant forward and squeezed his hand briefly. He ignored her gentle smile. He was over excited. So what? It was normal. Anything would be normal in a situation like this. He folded his arms to keep his fingers from dancing, and watched Eddie meticulously turn page after page.

Stan sat down in the recliner and nudged a ringlet behind his ear with his knuckle. His hair was sandy, and he never brushed out his curls. He kept them slicked back with plant oils from whatever yielded best in the greenhouse that season. In June, Ben had mastered the cold press, so Stan was using sunflower oil. He smelled earthy when he passed them in the confined hallways. Sometimes it was flax, which didn’t smell so good.

Stan had three prized possessions. The first was the wildlife book. The second was a small brass telescope, and the last was his Yarmulke, which he rarely wore for fear of damaging it.

Stan was their commander. Richie called him the ‘strict uncle’, amongst other names. Stan was quiet and gentle in the evenings, head tipped over his book, telescope resting on the ledge at his elbow; and he was quiet and firm during the day. There wasn’t a person alive in the Bunker who didn’t thank the universe every morning that they had Stan.

Richie watched Eddie flipping through Stan’s book, and despite himself, he felt his reservations slipping away. He couldn’t imagine a person who could handle a book with so much care would do anything to hurt them. Ben had settled next to Bev at the table and began polishing his boots with the corner of his jacket. Stan’s eyes were closed in the recliner. Mike and Bill had moved through to the kitchen and were talking in soft tones.

“You like history, Eds?” Richie said. “I can draw you a map of the cold war territories. I know it by heart. Mikey burned our best and only history books last year, but I have a photographic memory.” He grinned when Eddie looked over at him. Richie winked. “Keep that in mind.”

“Ignore him.” Bev said. “If he bothers you too much, we have plenty of lead pipes you can rip from the boiler room.”

Eddie looked back down to the book, and Richie held his tongue. He channelled his energy into tapping a beat with his two forefingers. He wanted to see how fast they could move before they were tapping at the same time. He stilled when Eddie put a finger to the book. He looked up, first at Bev, then Richie.

Richie hopped to his feet and stood at Eddie’s shoulder. His finger, with a short, jagged nail, was planted below a dove. It was an illustration, with fluffed pinkish-tan feathers and delicate dark brown spotted through its wings.

“A turtle dove.” Richie said. “Kinda boring, Eds, I’m not gonna lie to you.”

“Mourning dove.” Bev said from the bench. “That’s perfect.” Eddie looked down at the illustration again.

“Wow. We’re gonna have you speaking by Tuesday, aren’t we?” Richie said. He went to ruffle Eddie’s hair, but thought against it, plunging his hand into his pocket instead.

“So.” Said Bev. “Mourning dove’s kind of sad. Turtledove? You want that as your codename while you’re here? We use them over the walkies when we’re outside.”

“It’s totally unnecessary but Stan loves rules. And birds.” Ben said.

Eddie nodded decisively and pushed the book away. Richie picked it up and snapped it shut.

“We’ll find you one of the old radios tomorrow.” Richie said. “There are only five channels so me and Bev already share. You can be with Billy or something. You’re obviously a chatterbox, but I think you’ll survive.”

Eddie nodded, and went back to looking at his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you guys think! I hope my writing style is readable lol


	3. He Had a Lady

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short one! Sorry. With the way my Other Commitments are at the moment this might be a little slow going. I guess you can let me know if you prefer a little bit more often or to wait until I have more to post. 
> 
> I've said this already but this is very much a draft that I'm writing as I go, so I'll probably sort through it and fix it up when the whole thing is better formed. Feedback welcome!! 
> 
> I've posted a link to a diagram of their bunker at the end of this chapter :)

“First thing’s first, campers!” Richie announced, standing in the doorway of Eddie’s cabin. “No one leaves the base alone. Last time someone did they came back all moody and ignored me for days. It was traumatic! Mainly for me. But probably for them too.”

Eddie was halfway into his boiler suit, a white t-shirt stark and clean beneath the midnight blue canvas. He was sitting on the edge of his cot, and his face was projecting one of the clearest expressions since he arrived. One which said ‘ _go away, Richie_ ’. 

“I’ll let you ladies get dressed.” Richie said to an imaginary crowd. He looked around the tiny room apologetically, then bowed low. Eddie stared at him, arm frozen in his sleeve, and thick, spongy bunker-shoes neatly at his feet. Bunker shoes were made of natural rubber. No one had ever seen them until they arrived at the base; except Ben. Ben’s aunt used to order them from Spain as pool shoes. There was an entire crate full of them in the Back when they arrived. Bev had left a green pair with Eddie’s boiler suit the night he arrived. 

“But make it fast. The official tour starts in ten! Meet you in the chamber.” Richie said over his shoulder as he disappeared from Eddie’s cabin and hurryied back through to the front. 

“What are you doing, Rich?” Stan held a hand out, clotheslining Richie as he zipped past the airlock. 

“You wanted me to show Eddie the ropes.” Richie said, holding up their silver tablet. 

“I wanted _us_ to show him the ropes. We hadn’t allocated time slots yet. And why do you have the good tablet?” 

“Yeah but you’re all so very busy with your very important games of Sodoku that my silly brain can’t handle-“ Richie ignored Stan’s question. 

“Math and Sodoku are not synonyms. Sudoku doesn’t help with calculations.” 

“-I figured I’d take the initiative and take the little guy under my wing.” Richie said. Stan studied him for a second, but Richie was out of his grip and into the chamber before he could receive any psychoanalysis. 

“Do not call him ‘little guy’ to his face, Richard!” Stan called. His boots clanged on the ladder to the observatory, and Richie clambered onto the table in the chamber. He stood there, foot tapping against the rough Lino surface. Ben watched him over a cup of ginger root tea from the kitchen. 

Eddie appeared, dressed and wary, a little while later. 

“At last!” Richie said. “Class is in session.” 

***

“What, are you fucking hazing him?” Ben said. 

It was after lunch. Richie had given Eddie a very disorganised tour of the bunker, doubling back when he forgot an anecdote from the chamber; and returning to Bev’s cabin three times to give progressively more descriptive accounts of the time he found her making out with Bill in their first month. 

Eddie followed him around obediently. 

He didn’t seem bored. He still wasn’t speaking, but he wasn’t yawning or anything. His eyes followed Richie’s, and he looked on attentively whenever he pointed something out. The others checked in from time to time. Richie was usually too amped up to notice them hovering in doorways and behind store-closets. They all ate lunch together. And now, Richie had forced Eddie into a waterproof outfit and bundled them both into the bathroom, beyond all their bedrooms at the end of the hall.

It had been out of action for almost a week. They’d been using the toilet in the back, but it didn’t have a shower. On Ben’s turn to check that Richie wasn’t drowning Eddie for fun, or revealing anyone’s deepest secrets, he found them braced to tackle the pipe problem once and for all. 

“You’ve been on at me for days to do this plumbing. Why are you complaining?” Richie said. His voice was tinny behind his mask. It didn’t help with the smell, but he thought it was appropriate. Eddie was next to him, in a pair of boots that were far too big for him, and his disgust apparent in the clench of his fists around a spanner and plunger.

They were standing in the middle of the bathroom, ankle deep in liquid. 

“Turns out I couldn’t find the inspiration-“ Richie knocked his closed fist against the pipes running above the sink. “-because every plumber worth his shit needs a helper. This Mario’s got his Luigi!” Said Richie. He pointed at Eddie. 

“So…” said Ben. “He helped you figure out what was wrong?” 

“No.” Said Richie. “I knew all along it was probably the extractor valve. But he _is_ gonna help me fix it.” 

“Why’s he got a plunger? I told you this isn’t a blockage issue.” 

“You can talk to him, you know.” Richie said, turning back to the pipe. “He’s not deaf.” 

“Sorry, of course. Sorry, Eddie.” Ben said. Eddie looked at him, then splashed through the dubiously greyish water to the pipe next to Richie. 

“Thank you, gorgeous.” Richie said, taking the spanner from him. “And, Ben, every moment is a learning moment. I remember the day my old man first thrust a plunger into my hands-”

“He knows how to use a plunger, I’m pretty sure.” Ben looked at Eddie. 

Eddie nodded.

“See.”

“Okay, Benjamin. Your supervision is no longer required.” 

“Have fun, guys. Good luck.” Ben said, a note of amusement in his voice. He closed the door behind him and spun the lock. Richie took a breath through his filter. 

“Alright, Eds.” Richie pointed to the nut where two pipes met, it forked into two thicker pipes, painted a flaking matte black. “You’re gonna undo this, then it’s gonna get real fucking messy. Okay?”

Eddie had his eyes squeezed shut behind his mask. 

“You alright, man?” Richie said. Eddie’s shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath. Then his eyes opened. Richie smiled at him, wide. Eddie nodded, his mask clicking against the zip of his overall. 

“Alright. On three.” 

***

“We fixed it!” Richie stomped into the chamber, dripping stinking water in pools where he stood. Eddie stayed out in the hall, looking down at himself with what looked like disbelief. 

“Huh? Oh my God, take that off before Stan sees you.” Bev said. She was chopping vegetables in the kitchen, neck poking out from the corner to see them. “Why are you in here?"

“Yeah, yeah. We’re gonna hose down in a sec."

A gagging sound came from behind him. Richie spun around. Eddie was bent over. He had his mask thrust up into his hair and a hand on his stomach.

“Richie!” Bev said, exasperated. She dropped her carrots and came around the corner. “Get him in the airlock!” 

“Oops. Come on, Eds. Not to worry-“ Richie side-stepped him, and Eddie was heaving again when Richie’s suit got close. “Let’s get you out of these things.” 

Richie waited outside the airlock while Eddie stripped out of his overalls. The overhead sprinkler hissed on. Richie shifted from foot to foot. 

“Bevvie,” He yelled. "can you bring a towel?”

“Keep it down.” Mike’s voice echoed from the hatch above. 

“What?” Bev came around the corner again, knife in hand. 

“Shh.” Richie said, pointing upwards. “I’m covered in shit, but Eddie’s gonna need a towel.”

“You know what-“ Bev said. “You go wash off in the bathroom.”

“But, Eddie-“

“I’ll do it.” Bev said. “I’ll send him into your room when he’s cleaned up, okay? Why not lend him some of your clothes. Even the score a little, at last.” Bev said, moving towards the Back, where they kept their spare things. 

***

A half hour later, Richie came back to his cabin clean, in nothing but a pair of bunker shoes and a towel around his waist. 

The pipes were fixed, and he’d washed off in the bathroom, but it was going to need a thorough hose-down before it was ready to use again. It stank. The liquid had drained away, leaving the floor thick with a layer of grime. Richie had worn his boots to shower. 

“You haven’t got any good clothes now, huh?” Richie said. Eddie was standing by his window, afternoon sunlight glaring off the vizor and into his eyes. They were a warm shade of brown, like the forest floor. 

Every cabin had the same thin window lining the upper quarter of their far wall. Four of the cabins were on the same side, buried a little way into the ground and overlooking the greenhouse. The window was just above ground level, leaves and sticks poking the lower window ledge. They didn’t let a lot of light in until evening. It was almost that time. The other two cabins were across the hall; Stan and Bill’s. They were even darker most of the day, looking out across the perpendicular outer wall of the kitchen. Ben promised to swap with Bill if he ever wanted to, but Bill didn’t mind his dim little hidey hole. It was cooler in summer, that was for sure.

“I mean, the stuff you came in with- it’s all in the airlock, right?” Richie said. Eddie nodded, turning away from the glass. “We can check its rad levels if you want. If it’s clear we’ll wash it up and you can have it back.” 

Richie went into his crate. 

“But until then, I had a backpack when I came, so I have some spare stuff.” He moved some t-shirts aside. “Ben did, too. Everyone else is mostly workin’ with what they got. Boiler suits and overalls. That’s life now, huh?” He said. “Bev calls it ‘fashion neutral’. Smart girl. She was gonna go to school for that shit. She’s wasted in here. Well, who isn’t wasted in here?” He mumbled. 

He dug out a pair of charcoal sweats and his favourite black t-shirt. It had a decal of a pink neon sign across the chest saying ‘A$$’. It was merch from a club at his college called ‘Alcoholics Say Stop’, which was a cover for a club dedicated to hosting themed frat parties, which was a cover for a sophisticated fake-ID distribution outfit.

“Anyone ever tell you you’re easy to talk to?” Richie said with a grin, handing Eddie the clothes. Eddie looked for another moment out of the window before he took the clothes. He offered the slightest smile as what Richie assumed was a thank you.

“No problem, Eds!” He said. 

He turned his back to drop his own towel and pull on his briefs, then a pair of long, grey shorts. They were his dad’s. They used to be sweats. One summer, when Richie was nine or ten, he threw himself into a lake at a family barbecue. They were miles from home, all his older cousins sitting nicely on folded chairs up the beach. Richie was bored, and the water looked glassy. He sort of imagined he could just walk on its surface. 

He could not. 

Maggie absolutely would _not_ abide her son traipsing around in sodden clothes, so Went had to walk all the way up the track to where they parked their car. Richie sat in the shade, banished to a tree stump at the far end of the beach until his dad got back. When he arrived, he had his gym bag for Richie to root through. He changed behind a tree into a long yellow vest and the sweat pants. Once he stumbled back out again, the legs dragged through the dirt and then the sand. Went, with barely a second’s thought, grabbed a steak knife from the table and carved the excess material off. They fell, one by one, into the sand, freeing Richie’s feet. At the time, the pants were still long. 

“These were getting old, anyway.” Went said. “Don’t bother your mother anymore today, son.” He clapped Richie hard on the shoulder. Then he whipped a shoelace out form his sneaker and tied it around Richie’s waist to keep the things from slipping off him altogether. 

Richie kept them after that, buried for years at the bottom of his drawer. Eventually they stayed up without the shoelace. And now, for all the complaints Bev tossed his way when he kicked his bare calves up onto the dining table, he felt a little bit more like he was home when he wore them. 

Richie stood straight, pulling his t-shirt over his head, and something brushed his back. He started.

“Oh, hey.” He said when he realised Eddie was right up behind him. He was dressed now, sweats hanging off him and pooling around his feet. Richie’s T-shirt hung down to his thighs; and his hand was light, brushing a patch of Richie’s skin, following a curved line. Goosebumps rose under his touch. Richie shifted.

“What- This?” he said, craning over his shoulder to see the tattoo. It was on his middle back, an inch or two from his spine, which rose in sharp knots. He couldn’t really see it without a mirror; just a blur of greenish-black as he moved. Eddie took his hand away. 

“It was a dumb tradition in my hometown.” He said, pulling his shirt down so Eddie wouldn’t see the rashy blush spreading down from his neck. “Not far from here. Pretty much everyone has one. We got them when we graduated; from this guy at the church.” 

Eddie’s eyebrow quirked. A bubbly laughter threatened to burst free from Richie’s chest at the sight of it. 

“It sounds sketchy but everyone knew him. My parents even got one. Derry has the only freaks in the country who encourage their kid to get tatted.” 

Eddie looked thoughtful for a second. Richie watched him, his brain clocking every inch of air between them. Then Eddie’s hand was crossing the space again, tugging lightly on the material. Richie hesitated, then, carefully, lifted his shirt again. He looked resolutely at the wall while Eddie’s eyes fixed on his skin again. He hadn’t felt this fizzy feeling for a very, very long time. 

The tattoo was small and simple. A half moon tilted sideways, beside a bow and arrow completing an uneven circle. 

Richie’s didn’t heal quite right, so he’d had a crescent-shaped scar ghosting the outline of the black line-work. It appeared about a year after he got it done, and it created a pinkish haze around the moon. Richie sort of liked it. 

There was a long moment where he let it go on, Eddie tracing the lines on his flesh, and Richie thinking hard about golf. He hated golf. If there was one thing he was glad had been eradicated from the planet, it was golf. Pretentious fucking activity it was. 

“Okay!” He said, when he couldn’t think about golf anymore without getting pissed off, or giving up altogether and being back where he started- thinking about how it felt to be touched by the first total stranger he’d seen in six years. “Let’s show Bev your new fit.” 

***

It wasn’t until the sun had set over the bunker that Richie remembered he hadn’t shown Eddie the observatory. 

He’d been in his cabin dozing. He left Eddie alone after they'd changed. Bev made Eddie some dinner, and then she challenged him to a game of chess. Feeling like a spare part, Richie slunk away to eat his carrots and potatoes alone. 

He came to when he heard Stan and Mike emerging from upstairs, voices hushed and talking fast together. They were late. Usually they’d eat before the sun went down. He heard Ben singing softly to himself next door. 

Sounds began to ring out from the kitchen. Stan and Mike were making dinner. Footsteps in the hall indicated Bill was joining them. Richie was thinking of getting something himself when his door creaked. He sat up.

“Eddie.” He said. “I was about to come find you! I hope Bev wasn’t chewing your ear off about tights in the early twenty-thirties or something’. You wanna come see the observatory?”

***

“I mean I had a lady, before this whole thing went down.” Richie said. They were on the ground by the couch. Eddie had his neck angled back from the second they got through the hatch, peering up through the dome. Richie was sure those eyes couldn’t physically get any wider.The jagged black of the trees were reflected in miniature at their centres.

“It’s okay, don’t feel bad for me. It’s not a star-crossed situation.” Richie said, though Eddie didn’t look like he was having any particular emotion one way or there other. “She, uh, didn’t like me that much. She said we were ‘sexually incompatible’. Which was true, but not for the reasons she was thinking.”

Richie looked over at Eddie. He could’t tell whether he was listening to him or not. Richie was beginning to like that about Eddie. There was something thrilling about not knowing; not convinced you’re being ignored, but not certain you’ve got someone’s attention. It’s not a space Richie was very often in. It was like a challenge. 

“She liked to get slapped.” Richie said. 

Eddie was still staring up at the trees. 

“I didn’t wanna slap her!” Richie continued. He settled, legs sprawled over the straw-like rug, back against the couch. “I was like _that_ is how you get the cops involved. She might be dead now, I guess.” Richie said. Eddie looked at him then. 

“Anyway…” he slapped his thigh. “truth is she didn’t have the machinery I was looking for, if you catch my drift. A nuclear attack on our great nation can really put some things in perspective.” 

Eddie turned his face back to the dome. The moonlight broke out from behind a branch, spilling down over Eddie’s face. It was rugged, in a soft kind of way. Richie wondered for the first time how old Eddie was. He could be an old-looking twenty-five, or a young-looking thirty. 

“You got a girl somewhere?” Richie said. Eddie smiled. A real smile. Not a half-smile, or a ’thank you’. He didn’t look so old anymore. Richie could see him in college a couple of years ago. Doing God-knows what. 

Eddie shook his head slowly, eyes fixed upward. Richie smiled too. He could’t help it. “That’s for the best.” He said. “I hear they’re not producing many contraceptives these days.”

Eddie’s face fell again, slowly. More a drift than a fall. Richie followed his gaze, and- trying to picture what it was like to do it from here for the very first time- he gazed up at the moon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://richieknew.tumblr.com/post/641314722556346368/the-bunker


	4. Pretty Boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I call this one unnecessary exposition

“We had dials when we first came, like a normal water meter, but there was a bad winter and we think they got frozen. They’re useless. So now-“ Stan heaved the handle sitting in the concrete wall. From floor to ceiling, a foot-wide segment separated off from the wall and began to wheel outwards. It rumbled, pipes clanging together as its tiny wheels scraped along the ground. Eddie stepped back. 

“-we have to do pressure readings. We’ll show you how to take them yourself sometime, but you’d need to go outside, and you’ve had far too much exposure to do that right now.”

Stan tugged at the dolly until it juddered to a stop. He dusted his hand on his hip and gave Eddie a look. He left a pause, maybe so Eddie could give an indication of how long he was really out there. Something about where he’d come from. He’d been with them for about a week now, and he hadn’t said a word. Eddie just looked at him. 

They were in the storeroom. It was through a narrow door in the Back, next to Eddie’s cabin. It was almost double the size of the kitchen and had a small spiral staircase leading to an underground level. Its stark metal shelving covered almost every inch of the space, with small gaps between to squeeze down. When they arrived it was stacked with canned produce; already a couple of years old. It took them a few months to get a handle on how to manage their supplies. By this point they mainly used the canned food on special occasions. The rest was saved for emergencies. 

“So.” Stan stepped around the dolly, which housed several metal wheels on stalks. “These are the pressurisers. We only need this one-“

He tapped his stylus to a blue one. 

“And this one.”

A red one. 

“Blue’s water, red’s O2.” He said. “We have a filtration system for the air we’re breathing right now, so this oxygen’s just a backup, but we check them both every month, just in case. The water we drink comes from a big tank under the base.” 

Stan looked down at his tablet. 

“What else? Um. The airlocks do _not_ use the water reserve. Understand? They use filtered water from outside, and it’s fine for your body but do _not_ drink it. Did Rich tell you that? Don’t drink water from the hoses. You haven’t have you?”

Eddie shook his head.

“Okay, good. So, the only really inconvenient thing about doing pressure this way is that someone has to be down in the tunnel to read the gauges. We have a hatch out back that leads down there. It runs under this whole place. Basically how it works is we hop on the comm-“ Stan patted the walkie at his belt. “Whoever’s up here- usually me or Ben- turns the valve-“ 

Stan mimed turning his hand over the red wheel. 

“That shoots some air down into the water tank, and then you read what the number says on the gauge. The number we want is the difference between the pressure at standing level, and the pressure when there’s extra air in there. Make sense?” 

Eddie nodded. 

“Me and Mikey do all the calculations up here first, so we know what numbers we’re looking for. You just need to read off the meter. Makes it faster and stops anyone having to do any quick math underground. That make sense?”

Eddie nodded again, slowly. 

“Don’t worry about it too much for now.” Stan said with the shadow of a smile. “Next time we check the levels we’ll have you in here to see how it works. Now!” Stan pushed the dolly back into the wall. It shut with a loud scrape. “I know the suspense is killing you. Let’s get to counting those dry food packets.” 

***

Richie woke up in the middle of the night, a week or so later. He was confused at first. He usually slept through okay. He blinked for a while at the darkness behind his window. He realised, then, that he could’t feel his toes. He shivered as he surfaced into consciousness. Consciousness, on this evening, was a freezing cold place. 

He got up, bringing his blanket with him over his shoulders, and went through to the chamber. It was pitch dark. He didn’t turn on the light, bare feet picking up grit as he shuffled under the archway to the stove. 

He flicked on the hot-pads and pottered around looking for the hot water bottle. He could’t find it. He cursed to himself and stood, eyes adjusting slowly until the kitchen was an assortment of fuzzy but recognisable shapes. Richie nudged his glasses up his nose. He was down to his last pair. If they broke, or when his eyesight got worse, he was going to be blind as a bat. He amused himself with the thought of all the pity-tasks he’d get everyone to do for him. 

When the stovetop glowed red, he filled a saucepan with water and placed it onto the stovetop. It boiled over quickly.

Once he’d given up on the search for a water bottle and settled on filling a mug, he carried it back through the chamber. He was in the hall, mug between his hands, when he noticed it. There was a sliver of light skipping down two rungs of the ladder. Richie stepped over until he was directly under the hatch. The light fell into his eyes, squeezing out from the loose seal of the hatch. 

Richie frowned. The last one down usually sealed the hatch. Draughts from the vents sometimes slammed the vault doors, giving everyone a heart attack in the middle of the night. He put his mug on the ground and dropped his blanket next to it. He put a hand on a rung. It was icy. The splinter of light carved his finger into two dark halves. He stared at the way it glistened over the pale hairs on his knuckle. Then he climbed up quietly.

He pushed the hatch open gently. Eddie was standing on the far end of the room. The lamp was on. The room looked peaceful without everyone crammed inside. Mike always left their station tidy, but their tablets and notes were piled on the desk. The charger lay over the couch.

Eddie was standing by the telescope, not looking through it, just looking down at its eyepiece. 

“Eds, what are you doing up?” 

“Shit!” Eddie spun around, hand flying to his chest. 

“You can talk!” Richie yelled. 

“Fuck- Shut up, shut up-“ Eddie skittered over the hatch and pressed it shut with an urgency Richie had never seen on him before. It suited his frame, strangely enough. The energy working down his limbs like shocks. His movements short but precise. 

“What the fuck?” Richie whispered once Eddie straightened, hands coming up to rub pressure lines over his cheeks. “What’s the deal, man?” 

Eddie shook his head and paced over to the couch. He sat down for a moment and then got up again. Richie made an impatient hand gesture his way, and then Eddie sat down for a final time, elbow on his knee and hand balled in his hair. 

“Dude.” Richie said. “You realise this is sketch as fuck, right?”

Eddie closed his eyes, squeezed them tight, a desperate look working over his features. Then they ironed out, and he looked up at Richie. He took a breath and patted the couch cushion next to him. 

“How gracious of you.” Richie muttered. He took the seat. “What gives?” 

“Where I was before-“ Eddie began. Now the initial shock was over, Richie was a little surprised at how overwhelming the sound of Eddie’s voice was. He wasn’t sure if it was what he’d been expecting. It was between soft and hard. A little gravelly, maybe from lack of use. Strangely, Richie wasn’t sure if he’d really been expecting anything from Eddie’s voice at all. He thought about what eh might _say_ sometimes, but it was always illustrated in his head by the motion of his body. He thought more about the way Eddie’s hand reached for his cup in the morning without looking up from his book. Or how his back arched when he stretched. That was a language of sorts. 

“Sorry, wait, say that again.” Richie realised, late, that he’d missed the actual words coming out of Eddie’s mouth. 

Eddie glared at him.

“Forgive me for being a little all over the place, the silent weirdo we picked up in the woods just _talked_ -“

“Okay, okay.” Eddie said. “I _said_ , where I’m from they were a little suspicious of other people.” He said. “We had a rule not to talk if we ever, um, ran into strangers.” 

“Right.” said Richie. “And how long were you planning on keeping that shit up? If we wanted to barbecue you, we would have done. Also, I have to say, Eds, if your life really did depend on the silence thing I think you could’a done a little more work on ‘surprise scenarios’.”

“Shut up, asshole.” Eddie said. Richie stared at him. 

“I knew it.” He said, smile spreading over his face. “I knew you were a little shit!” 

“Rich.” Eddie said. 

‘ _Rich_ ’, Richie thought. 

“I would really appreciate it if you didn’t tell the others.”

“Dude, no.” Richie said. “Come on. I appreciate your creepy little backstory but we don’t do that shit in here.”

“Richie.” Eddie said urgently. “Please. It won’t be long. It’s really fucking important to me, okay? Please.”

Eddie’s hand was at Richie’s knee. Richie looked at it, and then up at Eddie. 

“A month.” He said shortly. Eddie let out a long breath.

“Yeah?” He said. 

“Yeah. A month. Then you gotta tell them, or I will. They’re not gonna love it, by the way-”

“I know.” Eddie said. “I know how this all seems. But thank you.” 

“Yeah, okay I guess.” Richie said. 

Eddie withdrew to his side of the couch, leaning back against the musty cushions. All that wound up energy seemed to disperse. 

“You weren’t up here planning our deaths or anything, right?” Richie said. 

“No.” Eddie said. “I can’t sleep.”

“Oh-“

“It’s not because of being here.” Eddie said quickly. “I never could. On and off for years now.”

“Oh.” Richie said. “That sucks. Wanna hang out?”

“You don’t have to.”

“It’s cool. I’ve never heard a chipmunk talk before, this is neat-o.” 

***

“Stan told me about the water.” Eddie said as the lemonade-pink of the morning crept over the rug. Barely even light yet, just tone. A shade to the air. “In the reserve underneath here. How long until that runs out?”

“Oh.” Richie put his book down. He hadn’t been reading it. It was one of the atlases. His eyes were drifting closed. 

He and Eddie had been talking periodically all night. It was warmer in the observatory than in Richie’s cabin. The heat of the day drifted up through the hatch and settled. Richie’s toes were still cold, though. He drifted off for an hour or so on the couch with two of the deflated sand bags over his knees. He’d woken up and Eddie was back by the telescope, looking through it. Now he was sitting on the floor at Richie’s feet.

“Boss Man doesn’t like to talk numbers like that,” Richie said, following a deep yawn. “but I bullied Mike into giving me an estimate once. He thinks we have another three years here if we go easy. Another five if we go _real_ easy. But no more than seven.” 

“What after seven?” Eddie said. 

Richie shrugged a shoulder.

“I always liked the idea of running into the lake to see if all that toxic waste gives me any cool superpowers.”

“Rich.”

“I don’t know, Eds.” he said with a sigh. “Mikey and Stan are trying to think of something, I’m pretty sure. They can’t just be sucking each other off up here every day.” 

“You haven’t thought about moving on?” 

Richie laughed. 

“Sure I have. In imagination land I move out and live in a beautiful castle by the sea. On a beach town. Outside Shanghai. It’s very peaceful.”

“For real.” Eddie said. 

“Eddie, there’s nothing out there.” Richie said. He opened the atlas again. “I don’t see the point of wishful thinking.” 

“What if it wasn’t?”

“But it is. That’s what I’m saying. There’s no ‘if’. This is life, in here. If that expires in a little bit then fuck it. We did our best.” 

“Yeah.” Eddie said. “Okay.”

Richie’s eyes closed in the silence. He was tipping from warmly tired to exhausted. He was going to be useless all day. Stan would kill him. He was supposed to count three shelves of inventory. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to count his fingers. 

“You said-“ Eddie started hesitantly from the floor. He looked as alert as ever, hugging his knees to his chest. Green bunker shoes poked out from the loose fabric at his ankles. “-you had to leave your town. If you had a community after the- um, war- why did you come out here?”

“Jesus, Eds, not beating around the bush, there.” 

“Sorry. You don’t have to-“

“It’s okay.” Richie said. “Everyone has a sob story, right. Ours isn’t so bad. Or, that part isn’t.” He tossed the atlas onto the book case and slipped onto the floor next to Eddie gracelessly. He leant into the couch cushion with his elbow. 

“So, remember I said our town, Derry, split into two sides after the war? They were basically run by two little… military bases, I guess? Made up of some of the old council dudes and their kids."

“Yeah.”

“At the beginning of year three, there were talks between the two main camps. They had this big idea that we could make it over to some of the bunkers on the other side of town.” Richie said. “More space, more supplies et cetera. So in the lead-up, they had people running back and forth to put a plan together. We had two spots we wanted to hit. We wanted to get over to the town hall, which had some cellars. There was also a lab down in the valley which was meant to have a load of refrigerators and a generator. Both camps needed drugs, but some clothes and food wouldn’t have hurt. Pretty much anyone under thirty were gonna go. It was… It felt like the most important thing we were ever gonna do.”

“Yeah, I bet.” Eddie said. It still felt off when Eddie spoke. Richie pressed his knuckles against his palm until they cracked. 

“The idea was, we would scope around during the day, pick up what we could, and try and get into this third bunker before the limit was up. What was the limit where you’re from?” Richie said as an aside. Eddie looked caught off guard.

“Oh. Um. You can do t- three hours outside every week?” He said. 

He said it like it was a question. 

Richie frowned at him. Richie wasn’t good with numbers, but there were a few figures he did not forget. If your geiger reads more than thirty rads you need to get out of there; more than sixty and you’re not likely going anywhere again. And if you don’t have a geiger, you go off what your base commander told you five years ago; which is that you can go outside for no more than three hours every six days or your organs will fry before you turn thirty. 

“Yeah.” He said. “Us too. Anyway. We get out there, almost into hour two, and it's going fine. Mikey and I were on the balcony scanning some of the books. We weren’t really supposed to be looking for anything besides essentials, but ‘knowledge is essential’” Richie made air quotes. Eddie smiled a little. 

“It was pretty bad, though. Our counters were kicking up a fuss. Mike wanted to try and take the shit anyway. That man would die sooner than waste literature. I’m not so noble, you see, so I was telling him to get fucked. Then-” 

Richie shifted. He bit on his lower lip and shifted again. The scrape of tiredness under his eyelids seemed suddenly sharp. He blinked. The observatory was getting lighter in smooth shades. He hadn’t seen a sunrise since college. He wondered if they had a ladder they’d be able to see it through the trees.

“It went a little pear shaped from there.” He said. “This huge noise blasts us. Like, it physically knocks us against the bookcase. My ears were ringing, the whole nine. We go over to the balcony and there are fireballs across the street. The others were down there in a pharmacy looking for medicines- A lot of people got hurt.” He said quietly. “Well, I guess worse than hurt.” He took a breath. “We didn’t get to check.” 

Eddie's presence was warm beside him. Richie scratched his chin. 

“Everything was on fire and we had masks, but the smoke- We couldn’t risk getting near that fire. You ever seen what burning Uranium does to a guy?”

Eddie shook his head.

“Good. We have and we wanted to steer clear.” He said shortly. "Bill and Bev were already up town, so they were okay. The others were in the basement of the library. We looped back, trying to get across town but the streets were hell. More bombs started going off- or explosions, whatever they were. We still don’t know. Mike and Bill always thought it was land mines. Stuff from the war. I never heard of any land mines, though. No point thinking about it, now. We kept running around, well past the three hours so we were panicking about getting sick. Eventually we got to the edge of town just to get out of the smoke. The whole place…”

Richie shook his head.

“There was no way back into town. Mikey said knew about this old estate by the lake. It was a shot in the dark, but-“ 

Richie gestured around. 

“It paid off. I mean, we could’a done with hanging onto a few more supplies. Butter-Fingers-Billy had the Geigers, but he dropped them in town. Those would have been a lot of fucking help. I mean, we have the particle thingies in here but they only work on flesh and, like, clothes. Billy used to be the big man, by the way.“ Richie nudged Eddie. “You probably wouldn’t be able to tell that now.”

“I don’t know.” Said Eddie. “Maybe.”

“Yeah, well. We all would’a sucked his dick if he gave us half the chance. He, uh- He kind of froze up after we left. He had a brother back in town…” Richie trailed off, remembering something Bev said to him once.

‘ _There are some things that aren’t yours to put out there, Rich. Do you understand that at all?_ ’

He looked at Eddie. Maybe he was starting to understand. 

“Anyway.” Richie said. “Stan’s God in here. Don’t you forget it.” 

“But you all knew each other, even before?” Eddie said. 

“Yeah.” Richie said. “Since middle school.” He scratched behind his ear, eyes slipping distant behind his glasses. “We haven’t talked about any of that in a while, though. I wonder if I remember all the details right.” He tipped his head back against the couch and looked up through the dome. The sunlight of the early morning had leeched away into grey. The cool of the night was easing in the observatory, but summer had decisively turned to fall. The clouds were deep, full grey beyond the trees.

“Sometimes I hear Mikey bring it up to Bill, but-“ Richie shook his head. “Anyway. Enough about my gorgeous life! How’d you get here? We’re all dying to know. You can’t have been out there alone for long, right?” 

Eddie looked away. Richie gave him a moment, the quiet between them soft. 

There were no hard lines to Eddie’s presence. Even now he’d got a few hundred words off his chest. Richie had been wondering, in their short time together, whether his comfort whenever they were together was down to the knowledge that Eddie wasn’t going to talk back. Or whether it was the blissful void of history beyond their solitary week together. It didn’t seem so. Even now he could speak, there was no ‘ _beep beep_ ’ in Richie and Eddie’s past. No winding manuscript of awful things he’d heard Richie say, or seen him do. Just a couple of weeks of quiet, wide eyes watching him; hands copying the things he was shown. 

“Yeah, I get it.” Richie said when Eddie didn’t pipe up again. “Not the cutest trip down memory lane, this stuff. Hey!” He said loudly. Eddie started, which made Richie grin. “You ever seen ‘Over the Hedge’?” 

Eddie had a look in his eye which Richie had learned to interpret as a smile. 

“Oh, fuck, man.” Richie said. "I’ve seen that movie a million times in here. I can never un-watch it. That script will be in my head as long as I live, but even the _thought_ of someone seeing it for the first time-“ Richie put a hand out onto Eddie’s shoulder, and placed his other palm flat against his heart. “That gets my blood going, Eds. I need to live vicariously though hedge-virgin eyes. I need it more than anything else in the world. Tell me you haven’t seen it?”

Eddie gave a minute shake of his head. Richie pumped his fist against his chest. 

“We have like an hour before Stan comes up here. Shall we watch it?”

“Sure.” Eddie said quietly through a mildly bemused laugh. Richie got to his feet. 

“From the second you walked in here, I was like, ‘that’s my guy. That is my ‘Over the Hedge’ Hero’. Wait here, pretty boy. I’ll get the tablet.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey if you have any notes for me about my writing I'm totally open to them! Just say it gently :)


	5. Nyquilled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk man!

Midwinter rolled in hard. The heating system was acting up, so some nights were bearable, and some nights were like sitting in an ice box. 

“It’s freezing.” Eddie said from the doorway one evening. Richie was sitting in his cot with two cups of hot water balanced between his legs. He was wearing two sweaters. 

“Yeah.” Richie said. “Bev has the water bottle tonight. Come be my heater?” Richie made a grabby hand in Eddie’s direction. Eddie rolled his eyes. He planted himself on the opposite end of Richie’s cot. They sat together like that sometimes when Eddie could’t sleep. Not every night, but when the wind was high, or if they’d had a long day scrubbing the bathroom. When Eddie was tired he was quiet, and Richie felt like it was those first days again, watching his body to read him. 

“I used to be a real neat freak, you know.” Eddie said. His feet were by Richie’s shoulder. They sat end to end, against the hydraulics holding up Richie’s cot. 

“No.” Richie said sarcastically. “I would never have guessed. The way you washed everyone’s dishes twice last night really screams ‘chill guy’.” 

“Shut up. It was bad. Worse. I wouldn’t have been able to even be in a place like this.” 

Eddie put his hand out between them, palm up on the blanket. It was filthy. Grit sat between his fingers. They’d been using the blanket as a rug all week. They hadn’t washed anything since the cold weather rolled in, and they didn’t have a vacuum cleaner. They didn’t even have a broom. Stan wouldn’t let them bring in sticks to make one. Most things in the base had a comfortable layer of dust on them on a good day.

“My mom, she, um, she had some control problems.” Eddie said. 

“That sounds hot. She cute?”

“Fuck off.” Eddie muttered. “I mean it was probably actually abuse, but-“

“Oh.” Said Richie. 

“No, no. Don’t do that. It’s fine. It’s just one of those things. You grow up and suddenly they have a million new names for all the shit everyone goes through. I’m not special.”

“You’re special to me, Eddie cake.” Richie bent forwards and pinched at Eddie’s cheek. He squirmed out of his way. 

“Okay!” Eddie said, grabbing Richie’s wrist. He got up onto his knees and pinned Richie’s arm back into his chest. Richie didn’t know how to react to that, so he didn’t react at all. Eddie kept a grasp on his wrist like this was completely normal and did not change the dynamic of their friendly chat in the slightest. 

“You know where she is now?” Richie asked, deciding he better play along with the ‘normal’ thing, despite Eddie’s knuckle digging into his sternum. It hurt a little bit. Richie was wondering whether his old girlfriend was actually onto something with the violence thing. 

“Yeah.” Eddie said. 

“She’s… alive?”

“Yeah.” Eddie said. He let Richie’s wrist go and slumped sideways against the wall. They were closer now, Eddie’s legs folded up, feet burrowing between Richie’s shins under the blanket. Richie was flooded by equal parts grief and relief at the new arrangement. Eddie’s feet were cold. “Last I heard, she’s okay.” 

“Oh, good! It’s crazy that there are other places with, like, people.” Richie said. “We were so sure we were the only ones left.”

“I think everyone was.” Eddie said distantly. 

“Maybe. They always said Derry was shielded by the valley at this particular angle so we didn’t get as high a dose in the initial blast. A couple of days before the bombs hit, they got all these gnarly communications through. They kept the transcripts and they were coded but they deciphered them; and it was all the coordinates for all the bombs. So they did all the numbers and I think they figured that maybe fifteen-hundred people were left in the United States. It would be insane if you were one of them and you live so close! I wonder if their projections were off at all…” 

Eddie nodded, a little stiff all of a sudden. Richie watched his profile. 

“Oh, sorry. I guess that’s kinda dark. Back when we first got here I went a little crazy and all I could do was tell myself what happened over and over again. Like a story. Sometimes I forget it’s real.”

“It’s fine.” Eddie said. “I used to do that too, I think.”

“It’s weird making it real in my head. Saying it makes it more real.” Richie said. “Like, I told you about my girlfriend the other week… It made me think, like, I kinda hadn't thought about her as a real person in a long time."

“Yeah, that’s- I’m sorry.” Eddie said.

“It’s whatever.” Richie said. “I was mainly thinking about the sex, to be honest-“

“Richie!” Edide slapped him. “That’s an awful thing to say.”

Richie shrugged. A pause stretched between them. Pipes above Richie’s cabin clinked softly through the concrete. 

“How did you do it?” Eddie said quietly. 

“How did I- How did I fuck her?” Richie said. “Is this a technical question, or-“

“You said you weren’t into it.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

“So what did you do?” Eddie’s voice was quiet. That was a loaded question, but Eddie was sitting there picking at his nails acting like it wasn’t, so Richie followed his lead. 

“Uh. We were at her parent’s lake house- I know.” Richie held a hand up. “I’m not proud of that; dating a girl’s bad enough and then her parents are rich as shit. I’m a flawed man. So, we were up there, on the porch. They had this couch, it was magic, man. Fuck, I miss real couches. Her parents were out at some dinner or something so we had the place to ourselves. I hadn’t really been into it for a week or two, on account of-”

“Wrong parts-“

“Wrong parts, exactly. Wrong- kinda wrong everything, actually. She was beautiful, don’t get me wrong. I’m not out there dating uggos-“

“Richie!” 

“I’m a stud, is what I’m saying. But she was tall and, like- I don’t know. Anyway, sometimes I could manage it and sometimes I couldn’t. Depended how my imagination was doing on the day. It was kinda dark out there, and we’d just finished watching ‘Psycho'.”

“Hitchcock’s ‘Psycho’?”

“Yeah, real old school. Her parents had these old drives with hundreds of movies. Must have been stolen or something I’ve never seen a collection like it. Most of ‘em were fucking boring. She took a film minor so she was all over that shit, which-” Richie made a gagging noise. “So she’s next to me and she’s pressing her ass into my leg and running her hands all over me. She could never ask me to do shit, so it was always these rituals and I had to decide whether to ignore it or not. She’s not facing me, so if I close my eyes and think real hard I can get myself into that Anthony Perkins headspace, if you know what I’m saying.”

“That’s twisted.” Eddie said. 

“Don’t tell me you wouldn’t.”

“Straight after watching ‘Psycho’? No, Richie. I really wouldn’t.”

Rain began to fall onto the soil outside. Delicate pinging noises echoed around the room as they bounced off the leaves and onto the glass. Eddie and Richie both looked towards the window. Darkness stretched beyond the first couple of trees illuminated by the security lights on the airlock. The solar panels on its flat roof below began to glitter as rain spotted their surface. 

“So…” Eddie said. Richie looked back at him. “Then?"

“I fucked her… Jesus. Want a play by play?” 

Eddie shrugged. Something in Richie’s chest wound taut, tugging at the organs reaching deep into his abdomen.

“Slow.” He said, before he could put much thought into it. “Slow at first.” 

Eddie nodded like Richie had given him the weather report.

“It was good?” Eddie said. 

“When you’re thinking about something else you might as well be jerking off, you know? I mean, it’s better than that, I guess. But also worse, maybe. If it was actually ol’ Tony I’d have liked it better. Put it that way.” 

“Did you ever?”

“Fuck Anthony Perkins? He’s been dead for over a hundred years.”

“Were you ever with someone you wanted?” Eddie said. 

Richie stared out into the black. The Rain was already falling hard. 

“I don’t know.” He said. 

“I think you’d know.” Eddie said.

“Yeah.” Richie said. “I guess I would.” 

***

The intercom read November when the weather temperature hit a new low. They weren’t sure if the digital system had the right date, but it lined up pretty nicely with what was going outside, so they went by it. Hanukkahs and Christmases counted off in lines of chalk beside it on the peg board; or with carrots Bev painted red, blue and purple with melted crayons. They hung them from strings around the kitchen. She used the last of the crayons at Easter, so they were going to have to get creative this Hanukkah. Ben had been experimenting with plant dyes. It was a work in progress. 

Richie was showing Eddie some soil trays in the storeroom. 

“I’m saying you can’t claim people as property.” Eddie said, digging his pinkie into the soil and dropping a seed in the indentation. 

“Birdhouse.” Richie said into his walkie, holding Eddie’s gaze when he looked up at him. It was dark in the storeroom. There was an industrial set of floodlights nailed above the door, but they only reached well down the first two aisles. No one complained. An over crammed storeroom was better than an empty one. 

“Come in, birdhouse.” Richie said again. 

“Go, Warbler.” Ben’s voice hissed over the channel. Richie turned the dial and the cracking reduced.

“Richie-“ Bev’s voice followed Ben’s. “Are you seriously this lazy. You’re just next door!"

“Hello.” Richie said into the radio. "Communism in this base is cancelled. This small man Mike found in the woods- He is my property, now. Over.” 

Eddie busied himself with a trowel, digging new troughs through his tray. Richie thought he caught a smile under his hair, but the purple UV lamp beside him light made it difficult to see. 

“Warbler, this is your last warning.” Said stan over the radio. "Keep the comm clear. And stop bringing up political concepts you do not understand to be funny. It’s never funny. Waxwing out.” 

Eddie huffed a laugh at that, and Richie spent the rest of the afternoon pretty pleased with himself.

*** 

They were on their way through to the chamber when they finished and Mike was standing by the ladder with his arms folded. Richie and Eddie came to a halt by the airlock. 

“What’s up, warden?” Richie said. “Waiting for a criminal? ‘Cause I got one right here.” 

“Eddie.” Mike ignored Richie. “Can I borrow you upstairs for a second?”

Eddie ignored Richie’s gaze burning along the side of his face and nodded at Mike. 

“We’ll catch you at dinner, Rich.” Mike said. Richie threw his arms out in exasperation. Eddie did look back at him, briefly, the question in his eyes, matching the confusion on Richie’s face. He still did as Mike asked, climbing up the ladder. 

“Fuck me, then.” He called as Mike followed Eddie’s lead. Richie stood there for another second. He leant on his heels, reorganising the plans he’d vaguely had for the next hour. He and Eddie were going to try and make ‘corn babies’ from old rope. Eddie had never even heard of corn babies. 

He pulled himself together and swung into the chamber, ready to ask the room at large 'who the hell hasn't heard of corn babies?’.

“He has an intimacy problem-“ Bev was saying to Bill over the kitchen table. She closed her mouth sharply when Richie walked in. The shifty looks on their faces ate away at his corn baby speech.   
  
“Talkin’ about Stannifer?” He said instead, going through to the kitchen and frowning at the five lonely carrots on the countertop.   
  
“Don’t eavesdrop.” Said Bill. 

“Don’t say things in the salloon that you don’t want the townspeople a-hearin’” Richie said in a southern drawl. 

“How’s Eddie?” Bev said. 

“Huh?”

“Eddie."

“Ask his girlfriend.” Richie said, reaching for the cupboard. “You better watch out, Billy, he’s on your turf.” 

“What are you talking about?” Bill said. 

“He and Mike have been in the Ob for, like, nine years.” 

“Mike was literally just in here.” Bill said. He and Bev exchanged a glance. Richie wanted to throw the stupid carrots across the room. 

“Am I missing something here?” He said loudly. 

“No, honey.” Bev said.

“Fuck you all.” He mumbled, grabbing a carrot. 

“Rich!” Bev said. “Leave those alone, they’re for our stew!” 

“Everyone wants me to die.” Richie dropped the carrot back onto the counter with a flourish. “Maybe I should roleplay as Mike from now on, since he's so popular today. Would that make you like me more, Bevvie?” 

“Woah.” Said Bev. Bill shook his head and got to his feet. “Honey-“

“Don’t lecture me, Red.” Richie said, teetering between a forced jovial tone and an outright unhinged one. Bill passed the archway and disappeared through the door. 

“It’s not gonna be a lecture, it’s a pep talk!” Bev beckoned Richie over. He stayed where he was, feet planted on the sticky kitchen floor. “I mean, you’re a smidge trigger happy with saying awful and disgusting things-“

“Okay I think we need to teach you what ‘pep’ means.”

“-But! We all love you. No one wants you to be dead. And no one wants you to be someone you’re not, either.” She said in a knowing voice that made Richie wish there would be a radioactive spike that penetrated the walls of the bunker and killed them all on the spot. 

“Scarlett Lady, I was just kidding.” He bit into a carrot. “You fell for it! Rookie mistake.”

“Richie.”

“I’m Richard Wentworth Tozier and I am God. I do not have weaknesses. I will never die and you should fear me. Goodbye.” 

“No, no, no!” Bev called. “Come on. Come help me decipher Stan’s list for next week.” She said. Richie studied her, halfway to the door. “Come on.” Bev said, waving him over with her whole arm. She was smiling. Richie gave in. 

“Look.” She said. “Tell me what this says?” 

Richie rubbed his hands together and hopped up onto the table. His boots clapped down over the lino, and then onto the concrete beside her. Bev pointed to the tablet by her plate. It had a white screen with thin black scribbles all over it. 

“Stan doesn’t write in English.” She said. “What does ‘Hi- Hid-Ex’? What is that?” She pointed at the screen. 

“He uses ‘X’ to mean ‘combine’, doesn’t he?” Richie frowned. He couldn’t even make out a word on the page. It wasn’t that Stan’s writing was messy. Stan had very neat handwriting. He’d just devised a version of his own shorthand, and he was constantly irritated that no one else had been able to pick it up. 

“Yeah. But he also uses it to mean ‘cross’, ‘centre’, ‘target’-“

“‘Kiss’?” Richie said. 

“Maybe in his personal notes to you.” Bev said. “I’ve never seen Stan say ‘kiss’. Even out loud.” She said. ’Hid’ might stand for… hydraulic? H- H- You know what-“ She locked the tablet with a click and pushed it away. “I don’t actually care.”

Richie sat down next to her on the bench.

“There’s the anarchistic spirit I love about you.” Richie said. 

He ate dinner with Bev. Bill came in and out with Ben. Richie’s eyes kept drifting to the hatch. He was washing up when he finally heard footsteps on the ladder. He dropped his plate and wiped his hands on his pants, zipping across the chamber to the hall. 

“Richie!” Bev called indignantly. “You left the faucet running.” 

Richie ignored her, he caught the door as it closed and followed Eddie into the Back.

“Hey!” He said from one end of the hall. Eddie was on the other side, by the airlock. 

“Hi.” Eddie said, turning gingerly. Richie frowned at him. They stood facing each other in silence for a moment. The emergency light glowing sickly green overhead. 

“How’s Mikey taste,” Richie said “I’ve been curious about that for years.” 

“Ugh, Richie. Do you have to always be fucking vile?“ Eddie looked genuinely bothered. Richie was at sea. He tried to reel it in. 

“Jeez, he take your sense of humor, too? What did you guys talk about?” Richie said. 

“He was taking me through some protocols again. Pressure day’s coming up.”

“Protocol takes an hour?”

“I- Yeah if we were in there for an hour, then it was for an hour.” Eddie turned away again towards his room. 

“You guys must have had a lot to say!” Richie said, desperate to recover the atmosphere, but unsure exactly how it even got so sour in the first place. 

“What? Mike did, yeah. I still haven’t said anything to anyone else. You know that.”

“Right. But you’re going to, aren’t you?” Richie said. “You’re going to say something to them. You promised me.” 

“Yeah. Of course. Really soon. Look, Rich, I’m tired tonight. I think I’m gonna-“ he pointed a thumb over his shoulder. Richie felt something spiky rising from the depths of his stomach. He could’t hold it back from pushing up his throat. 

“Why won’t you tell me where you’re from?” He said.

“What?” Eddie’s shoulders looked so tight his whole body could snap. "I told you, you wouldn’t know it. It’s a small town, like yours.” 

“It has to be near, though. Right? Close enough for you to make it here on foot alive. I probably do know it. I literally can’t stalk you, man. We’re trapped in here together already. Why won’t you tell me?”   
  
“No, I know. It’s just this... thing.” Eddie said shortly, arms folded tight to his chest. “I want to keep it separate. Before and now. Listen, I should go to bed.”

“You didn’t eat yet. And you never sleep. Mikey give you a NyQuil or something?”

“What’s the deal, Richie?” Eddie snapped. “I’m actually tired. For once. It's a good thing. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He turned away, and Richie wanted to go after him. He wanted to say something else.

Eddie’s door swung closed with a deep creak, then sealed with a thump. 

“Shit.” Richie muttered to himself.

***

“Where’s Eddie?” Bev said. It was a Sunday. The intercom said Sunday, anyway, so they were doing Sunday things. Bev was trying to make noodles for their dinner. On Sundays they always had a meal together.

Noodles were the end-goal. At that moment, Bev was trying to convince rice to become dough. Mike had managed it once, and they had a meal akin to ramen in a thick onion and soy broth. Soy was on strict ration for birthdays these days. Bev thought she could still make something good with the ginger and spring onion they’d grown.

“Oh. He’s not- I don’t know.” Richie said. He was slumped at the table staring into space. “Inventory?”

“We finished inventory last week.” 

“Okay. If you want him the comm’s right over there.” Richie said, pointing to the intercom. Bev had him pinned with one of those looks he hated. 

“You guys seem a little off.” She said. “Everything okay?”

“Off? What’s off about us?” 

“I don’t know. No more cute little nights in your cabin recently. Or in the Ob. You realise we could all hear him coming to find you-“

“He just wanted company.” Richie said. “But now he’s sleeping better, so- Insane how simple it all is when you rub your braincells together.”

“Okay.” Bev held her hands up. “I was just wondering. Mikey didn’t say something to him? It's, like, he's weird ever since they had their little meeting-“

“We’re not fucking married, Bev! I can not read his mind. From my end, nothing’s going on.” Richie said.“Take that energy to Bill if you’re looking for gossip. He’s been extra inside-Mike’s-asshole recently."

“Bill and Mike are not my job.” Bev said, then she patter her pocket. “So I do not care. Ah, fuck. Ben took the peeler again, didn’t he?" She headed out of the kitchen towards the hall. She threw Richie a smug smile over her shoulder in response to his glare while she passed. 

“I’m not a job.” Richie said. He slouched further over the table as she disappeared around the corner towards the cabins.

“Everyone ready?” Stan sidestepped Bev and marched into the chamber, walkie in his hand and his Yarmulke pinned neatly to his curls.

“It’s just me in here.” Richie looked around. “Oh-“ he took in Stan’s posture, and his favourite grey boots. “It’s not pressure day already, is it?” Richie groaned. 

“I don’t know what you’re whining about.” Stan said. “You’re not going outside.”

“Everyone still gets super pissy and weird.”

“No they don’t.” Bill appeared at Stan’s side. “Who’s turn is it in the tunnel?” He asked.  
  
“Ben.” Stan said. “And I’m gonna have Eddie doing the valves with me.” 

“Wow. So sick. So cool.” Richie said.

“What’s your fucking problem, Richie?” Bill said. 

Before he could answer, Ben rustled down the hallway in overalls. He had his mask resting at his neck. 

“Ready, buddy?” Bill said, patting Ben’s plastic-wrapped arm.

“Yeah.” Ben said, already slightly short of breath from walking his thick rubber boots from his room. “I fucking hate pressure day. Can someone get my belt? I wanna get this done with.”

“Richie.” Stan said. “Make yourself useful.”

“It’s always me.” Richie said, but he got up anyway. “Don’t worry, Haystack.” He said, plucking the belt from the peg-board and ignoring Stan’s frantic warning not to throw the radio. He tossed it to Ben, who caught it by the tips of his fingers. “It’ll be over before you know it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> smth is coming next


	6. Like an Egg

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this in an absolute daze and have not even proofread it so . you might want to give me a day or two to come back and correct; if not enjoy :) also feel free to flag mistakes or if this doesn't make sense

“Touchdown, Corncrake?” Stan said to the radio.

“Yeah, I’m in.” Ben’s voice replied. “Walking now.”

“Okay.” Stan said to the room. “Eddie, come with me. And Mike, if you could be on hand for the numbers?”

“Sure.” Mike said.

The airlock creaked as Stan held it open for Mike and Eddie. The three of them went through to the Back. Richie watched Eddie’s back disappear from the hall. He’d been nervous, Richie was pretty sure. Richie always suspected Stan intimidated him. Eddie was always eager to please around the base, but he only got really klutzy around Stan.

“Fuck, I can not get this stuff to co-operate.” Bev said from the kitchen. She ran a floury hand through her hair. A lump of stringy, translucent mush sat on the counter in front of her.

“We don’t have to have noodles, B.” Said Bill. He was laying in the recliner with the black tablet, typing away. Bill liked to write stories. Sometimes, if they made a decent vegetable wine, he’d read them to everyone in the observatory. They weren’t amazing, but Richie liked his ghost stories best. He missed horror movies. They only had one in their limited catalogue, and it was a bad slasher.

“Yeah. I guess. Ben really likes noodles.” Bev said, staring down at the lump of dough.

“Do you remember the Pad Thai Mr. Brunswick used to make?” Richie said. He ran his finger through the dust on the table top, leaving behind finger-tip sized snail shapes.

“It was okay.” Bill said.

“Uh, better than you could manage, Billiam.” Said Richie.

Bill made a noise in his throat.

“That guy could have served up dog puke and you would have eaten it.” He said.

“Ew, Bill.” Bev said.

“Hey, shut the fuck up, moron.” Richie pointed a finger at him. “You’re the one who-“

A low rumble, then a clap ripped through the air. It shook the walls of the chamber for a full few seconds. Bev and Bill were motionless, eyes drifting as they listened. It was quiet again, and there was a giddy pause.

“What was that?” Richie said. A small rumble followed, and then silence again.

“If there’s another war I’ll kill myself-“

“That wasn’t an explosion.” Said Bill. He got up and went to the intercom.

“Come in, Waxwing?”

“This is Junco.”

“Oh, hi, Mike. Did you guys hear that or are we losing it in here?”

The comm crackled. There was no answer.

“Mike, did you hear the huge fucking bang just now?” Bill repeated.

“Hold please. We’re trying to contact Ben.” Said Stan.

“Is Eddie okay?” Richie asked from the other side of the chamber.

“Is everyone alright?” Bill said into the panel. Bev got up, but looked like she wasn’t sure what to do once she was off the bench.

“We’re fine up here. Can’t get Ben.”

“Okay-“ Richie got up too. Without so much as a glance, he, Bill and Bev were all making towards the door. On the way through the hall, Bev leant up to the airlock on tiptoe to see through the windows. She shrugged at Richie, then they all went into the Back.

The storeroom was dark, as usual. Eddie was standing by the wall nibbling at his thumbnail. Mike had the walkie. He and Stan were in front of the dolly. Mike raised an eyebrow in acknowledgement as Richie, Bev and Bill came in to join them beside the valves. They were close up beside one another, filling the tight free floor space beside the shelving. Stan had his belt on, hands on his hips and a deep frown across his brow.

The radio squeaked.

“-Corncrake. This is Corncrake.”

“Oh thank god.” Bill breathed. Bev had a hand over her heart.

“Go, Corncrake. We heard something strange. Situation?”

“There’s- Oh, shit.”

There was a swishing noise over the radio, punctuated by static pops. Richie and Bill looked at one another.

“What’s going on, Ben?” Stan took the radio from Mike.

“There’s water in the tunnel.” He said. “A lot of water. It’s rising.”

“Oh my God.” Bev sank to the floor in a crouch, her elbows between her knees. Richie reached down and patted her shoulder.

“Get out of there! Can you get out? Where’s it coming from?”

“I- Yeah I’m walking.” Ben said, breath tight and broken over the airwaves. “It would- It would help me out if you could all not sound so panicked, please.”

“Sorry, buddy.” Mike said, reaching to hold the button down with a finger over Stan’s. Their hands overlapped around the radio. “No one’s panicking. Let’s just get you up here quickly.”

“Roger that.” Ben said. “Still walking. The water’s around my shins. I- I don’t think it’s getting too much higher actually. It came in fast, though.”

“Good.” Mike said. “That’s good. Keep coming.”

“It’s not far now. It’s the… the vents.” Ben said. “I think it’s coming from the vents.”

“Where do the vents lead?” Bill said quietly.

“The cistern.” Stan said. Richie blinked around the group. Bev had her head between her knees, hands balled in the hair at the back of her neck. Bill crouched down beside her, a hand resting on her back.

“Cistern?” Bill said.

Stan drew in a breath. His eyes were closed as he said,

“The water tank. That's the chamber housing the water tank.”

***

“Did you get a look at the readings before you left?” Stan said.

Ben was in the recliner, wrapped in two towels and Richie’s blanket.

“I wasn’t dallying around, Stan. I thought I was going to drown!” Said Ben.  
  
“I know. I know. I just- It’s important-“

Ben shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut.

“I think I saw… two-forty. Maybe?” He said, wincing. He didn’t sound sure.

“What does that mean?” Bill said. “If it’s two-forty?”

“It’s not good, but it’s better than nothing. That means-“

“Bev.” Mike said. His arms were folded. He’d been standing away from the others since Ben arrived back inside, arms tight to his chest and a passive expression.

“Yeah?” Bev looked up at him from where she was kneeling by the recliner.

“Did any of you try the faucet?”

“Since when?”

“Since the noise.” Mike said. “Did you try the taps?”

“When the fuck would we be fucking around with the faucet, Mike?” Richie said. He was sitting on the table, feet on the bench, tapping irregularly over and over.

Mike walked through to the kitchen as Bev swivelled to rest a calming hand on Richie’s knee. He shook her off. The gentle hiss of running water followed. It shut off again and Mike came back around the corner.

“Okay.” He was saying. “The water’s-“

He was cut off by another deep rumble. Maybe deeper than the first. It felt like it might pull the floor through the earth. Everyone in the chamber was stock still, Ben sat up straighter in his chair. They listened as the noise settled. Once again it was quiet.

Mike and Stan had their eyes locked as Richie turned to the others again. Before he could ask what they were thinking, Mike was back in the kitchen. This time Stan followed.There was a gentle thump and the sound of water hissed out of the faucet again, then it sputtered; once, twice, then it died. There was silence. The soft thud of the faucet echoed over the tiles, then nothing. Mike cursed quietly.

“What?” Richie called after them, getting impatient.

Mike and Stan emerged at the same time. They stood under the arch together, and Bill, Bev, Ben, Richie and Eddie all looked back at them. Before they spoke, an understanding settled over the room.

For the first time in as long as Richie could remember, the fight was gone from Stan’s face. It was peaceful, almost. His eyebrows released. His shoulders dropped.

"I think that was the last of our water.”

***

“I don’t understand.”  
  
They were sitting around the kitchen table an hour later. It would have been a meeting, if any of them were in the mood to label it as one.

The shake of Richie’s leg had settled into a tremor that he couldn’t control if he tried. His heart was pumping out of time, stopping him from catching his breath. The others didn't look any happier. Eddie was opposite him. He’d been frowning at the tabletop since the meeting began.

“It was the pressure test.” Mike said, his eyes distant.

“We don’t know that.” Said Stan. “There are a lot of things that could have happened-“

“Oh yeah, there are so, so many things that come to mind when I think of ‘stuff that can crack a solid concrete tank like an egg’” Richie said. “Though,” he said, putting a finger to his chin, “’pressurising the thing for years on end’ does come pretty close! Right behind ‘a bird got in there and pecked it’, and ‘evil wizard cast a spell’-“

“Shut _up,_ Richie. Jesus.” Bill said.  
  
“You turned the valve and the thing burst.” Mike said to Stan. “Our pressure tests shouldn’t have been enough to crack it on their own, even after years. It was probably damaged before we got here. There’s no way we could have known.”

“Um.” Bill said. Mike and Stan looked over at him.

“What?” Said Stan.

“There is _one_ way we might have known.”

“Bill.” Bev said. “I don’t think this is a good time.”

“I think it’s a great time!” Bill said, his jaw set tight and his hands rigid on the tabletop. “Me and Ben always said- we _always_ said we didn’t need to take those readings so often. We _voted_ last year against it. It was a waste of air, a waste of our time-“

“I did say I thought it might be dangerous.” Ben said quietly. He was still in the recliner, but they’d dragged it closer to the table. He’d shrugged off his towels, which were scrunched around his middle, but he still had Richie’s blanket over his legs.

“We didn’t know.” Stan said firmly. “We were trying to do what was best.”

“There’s no use going around in circles anymore.” Said Bev. “What the fuck are we going to do.”

“We are screwed.” Richie said. “There’s nowhere to go. Derry burned to the ground.”

“Maybe it didn’t.” Bev said. “We could try?”

“We saw it when we left.” Stan said. “Even if they didn’t- Even if they all survived the fires, there wasn’t enough food. The water supply was low.”

“Maybe they made it to the third bunker.”

“It’s over a day’s walk to get back to base.” Ben said. “It’s too dangerous.”

“I don’t know, if three hours outside is okay, surely a few more can’t hurt that much.” Said Bev.

“Yes, it can.” Said Stan. “We’ve had this conversation a million times. It’s not just the day outside, it’s that we might be trapped outside once we get there. There’s no water, no food we can eat.”

“So what, we die of thirst here in a week or something.”

“No. No.” Said Stan. “We have some water bottles back here somewhere. We take our time and think through our options.”

“What about the communications tower?” Said Bill.

“What?” Said Richie.  
  
“The one we found on our last trek.” Bill picked up the tablet from beside the recliner and put it in front of him. He began to draw on it with his finger as he spoke. “Here- When me and Mike went west to scope everything out, we stayed in the communications tower. It’s past the lake, up the cliff. Maybe three or so miles from here. We can easily do that in a couple hours.”

“Then what?” Said Richie. “You’ve been there already so you know there’s nothing there.”

“We’re doomed.” Ben said.

“We’re not doomed.” Stan said. “We’ll think of something. We’ve always been able to think of something. There’s seven of us now. More brainpower. We have more of a chance than ever.”

“Yeah, and more people to use up our resources.” Muttered Bill.

“Don’t talk like that.” Stan said. It wasn’t quite a shout, but for Stan, it was close. Bill nodded.

“No, yeah, sorry.” He said. He looked at Eddie. “Sorry, Eddie. I didn’t- I’m just- freaked out.”

Eddie looked at him, his gaze flicked over to Mike.

“If there was somewhere- fucking anywhere we knew of that had living fucking people-“  Bev was saying.

“What if there was.” Eddie said. Richie stared at him.There was a silence, and then the room erupted.

“Eddie!”

“You can speak?”

“Wait, what do you mean?”

“How long have you been talking? Did I miss something?”  
  
“Eddie, don’t do this.” Mike said quietly. Richie’s gaze snapped over, scanning Mike’s face as he watched Eddie.

“Wait, what does that mean?” Richie said loudly. The others fell quiet.

“What does what mean?” Ben said.

Richie pointed at Mike.

“Mikey just… I don’t know! What did you just say to Eddie, Mike? Share with the class, please.”

Mike’s gaze lingered on Eddie, like his eyes were saying something Richie couldn’t read. Then he turned to Richie.

“Nothing.” He said. “We’re all surprised he’s talking, that’s all.”

“No, no, no. That’s not what you said. You weren’t surprised. You said ‘don’t do this’. You never heard the guy speak before and you’re that desperate to shut him up? That doesn’t make any sense. So what is it he’s not s’posed to be doing, huh?” Richie got to his feet.

“Honey.” Bev put a hand out, reaching towards Richie. He ignored her, sidestepping until he was in the centre of the chamber. His limbs felt electric.

“Mike.” He said. Mike looked at his knees with a sigh. “Hey!” Richie snapped his fingers in Eddie’s direction. His eyes drifted up from the table. “You too, buddy. What’s going on.”

“Rich, is this… important?” Bill said.

“Uh, I don’t know, Billy!” Richie said, pointing again at Mike. “You’re not curious? Your boyfriend adopts this little freak in the woods for _no_ reason and now they have some kinda secret they’ve been keeping-“

“There’s no secret.” Said Mike.

“I feel like you should be more invested in this?” Richie finished, still addressing Bill.

“Oh, God.” Bill ran a hand over his face.

“I want to know, too.” Ben said softly. Bev looked at him, her mouth settling into an unhappy line. “What?” Ben said catching sight of her expression. “It is a little weird.”

Eddie glanced up at Richie, and then around the room. Mike had him fixed with an imploring look. Eddie was biting his lower lip.

“We’re waiting.” Richie said. He tapped a finger against his wrist.

“Mike-“ Eddie said.

“It’s really nothing.” Mike cut in firmly. 

“Okay.” Bill sat back on the bench. “I hate to say it but Richie's right. What’s going on?”

“What else is there to do, Mike?” Eddie said. “You’ve got no- _we’ve_ got no water. They have the right to-”

“Alright, alright.” Mike said hurriedly. He closed his eyes. He shook his head slowly. “I didn’t want to do it like this.” He said, maybe to himself, maybe to Eddie. Maybe to them all.

“Do what, honey?” Bev said, concern and trepidation all tied up in her voice. Ben was sitting forwards in the recliner. Bill glanced between Eddie and Mike like they had an invisible game of tennis going between them.Mike let out a long sigh from the depths of his chest. He didn’t look at anyone as he got up and stepped over the bench. He stood by the pinboard.

“I made a decision.” He began. “A long time ago, I decided something without telling any of you. It was wrong. You should have known. But there was nothing any of us could do about it-“

“ _What_?” Said Bill.

“I just- This is going to be easier if you let me explain first.” Mike said. He sounded calm, but it was the sort of calm that was numb. It was the calm left when there was no other choice. Mike had always been stoic like that. He and Stan both.

“A long time ago, there was a man by the lake.” He said. "This was a few months after we got here. It was my first mission alone. First and last.” He said. “He was- The man was dying. There was blood everywhere. It was from a wound in his side, I could see it.” Mike patted his own waist, sliding his hand over his undershirt and settling below his ribs, almost onto his back.“I tried to get him out of the water. I didn’t want to go in myself- Maybe I should have- but I spoke to him from the bank. I thought I could help if I could understand, but when he noticed me, he got quiet. He'd been screaming- but he saw me and he immediately asked where I was from. I told him Derry, and he, uhm, he warned me not to go back there.”

Mike paused. He looked like he was struggling to coax the next words.

“Yeah, it was fucking burning. No shit.” Richie said. “Why didn’t you ever tell us about this?”

“Because it wasn’t just that.” Mike said. “He told me not to trust them. He told me we’d been lied to- all of us who ever lived there.”

“Okay, great, so you met a crazy person.”

“Richie, keep your mouth shut for two fucking seconds, will you?” Bill snapped. Richie glared at him.

“I thought so too, at first.” Mike said. “But I came home, after he- when he’d-“

“It’s alright.” Bev got up to stand by Mike.

“Yes, well. He was… gone. And I didn’t think what he'd said was true. Not for a moment. I only didn't mention it to any of you because I didn’t want to think about him dying like that. I felt guilty that I couldn't help him. But the longer I ignored it, the more confused I became. Then, one afternoon I was reading through the history books. You know, the Derry essays we found when we got here? A few things he said played on my mind. I started to see some patterns... some links between his warnings and the old accounts from the township.”

“This is ridiculous.” Said Bill. “What could an old dying man possibly have revealed about the history of Derry?”

“There were pages at the end of each essay that were scrambled. Do you remember that?” Mike looked between them. Stan nodded, the others just stared steadily back at him. Except Eddie. Eddie had a blank look on his face. “Odd pages with sentences that made no sense. I thought they were just misprints, but the longer I tried to study them, the clearer it was that they had meaning. The documents weren’t even old documents at all. They were from _after_ the war. I was sure of it. The paper was New Press- made of plastic fibres, not wood. The font- it was modern. And there was no publication date. Plus, some of the shorter extracts are about things that never happened.”

“So it was fairy stories.” Bill said. 

“It wasn’t fairy stories.” Said Mike. “It was a dossier. It was coded evidence against a corrupt council. Our council."

“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Ben leant back in his chair. “Not conspiracy stuff again.”

“It’s not.” Mike said. “It isn’t a conspiracy. Long story short, I started to work on the coded pages and it led me to believe what the man at the lake told me.” He said. “Which is that we’re not alone here. More people survived than we thought. Derry was suppressing the circulation of information long before the war, and after the bombs dropped it gave them an opportunity to seize control.”

“I’m done with this.” Richie said. “Seriously. We had enough of this bullshit as kids. Getting us in trouble with the Derry PD. Breaking into buildings. Trying to correct Mrs. Burns library books!” Richie said. “We've seen this all before from you. And what was it every time? It was bullshit.” He said. “It was just stories. Eddie-“ Richie turned on him. “You’re not telling me Mike convinced you of this shit?”

Eddie avoided Richie's gaze and looked at Mike.

“There are places we can go, is the point.” Mike said, ignoring Richie’s interjection. “Places away from here. There always were. There are more options than we’d initially considered, because I hid them from you. I’m sorry. While we were safe and comfortable here, I truly thought it was for best.” Mike sat down again as if he’d finished a class speech.

“Wait.” Said Richie. “Eddie?” He said. “You’ve been out there… out somewhere else. You back this?” Richie said. Eddie didn’t look at him as he nodded.

“Eddie.” Richie said again. Bev tensed, watching Richie’s fists clench at his sides. “You lied to me?”

Eddie nodded once more, a barely-there dip of his head.

Richie was flying across the room before anyone could blink. Bill skidded in front of Mike before Richie collided with him. Ben was up and on his heels almost as fast. The two of them grabbed at Richie and dragged him backwards until the kitchen table was between them. 

“You wanted to keep us all here ‘cause you like the view so much? Huh? Or you knew you could keep Billy to yourself better if he never saw another _woman_ again? That it, you prick? You tried to bury us. I’ll fucking kill you.”

Mike stood against the peg board, a deep unhappiness in his eyes. Richie's sweatshirt was taut, caught between Ben and Bill’s arms, gripping for purchase against his slender ribcage. Their fingers dug harsh indentations across his stomach. If it hurt, he didn’t seem to notice.

“Richie, stop!” Bev yelled. “We need to talk about this!”

“We could have got out.” Richie was still flailing, but, at once, his knees buckled and all three of them were sinking to the floor. He folded like a deck chair, Bill and Ben supporting him now, rather than restraining him. He threw his arms over his head and his glasses clicked quietly as they fell to the floor. “What if we could have got out of here?” He said muffled into his knees.

“Richie.” Eddie said. He rounded the table and stood awkwardly by the mess of limbs in the middle of the floor.

“If we could have left-“ Richie said to the concrete. Bill and Ben were tentatively loosening their grip on him, kneeling beside his crouched form. Ben kept a hand on Richie’s back. Eddie crossed and stood over them, hovering. His hand flexed. 

“I’m sorry, Rich.” He said. “But it's not that simple-"

"Eddie." Bev said in waring.

"I know." Eddie said, he knelt next to Richie. "I’m so sorry. We were going to talk to you all-“

“‘ _We’?_ You and the executive team of secret keepers? You just fucking got here. Who even are you?” Richie looked up at him. Without his glasses his eyes were glazed. “Do you realise what this means? We were a team. We were a family. This whole fucking thing is built on bullshit.”

Richie’s body was rigid as everyone faced Mike again. The air itself stiffened.

“Alright.” Stan said loudly, his hands held out like he was conducting traffic. “This is completely pointless. We need to discuss things in a… more reasonable way. We’ll have a meeting-“

“I am not sitting in a fucking meeting about our ruined fucking lives. It’s fucking over.”

“Take a moment.” Stan looked around. No one moved. “Fifteen minutes. Cool down.”

Richie looked up, eyes red. He opened his mouth like he was about to say something.

“Cool. Down.” Stan said, pointing towards the door. “Everyone keep to themselves. Then we will talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!


	7. Eddie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as usual I'll be back to proofread this a few hours after posting so forgive errors (please point them out if you want!) 
> 
> (song of the day: Emma Blowgun's Last Stand - Beulah)

Eddie stayed where he was in the kitchen. He didn’t want to look at the others. He didn’t even want to be there. He wished he’d never been found by Mike; never stumbled down to the lake when he got separated that day. He could have just died in peace in the woods and then he wouldn’t have the wight of this entire base’s future on his shoulders.

He wouldn’t have met Richie though.

Stan paced around him, firing short questions at Mike. Mike wasn’t answering, just softly insisting they wait until everyone was there. Then he could explain. Ben and Bev had left the chamber after Richie stormed out. Bill had gone up to the observatory.

Eddie was thinking about Richie now. He was usually thinking about Richie. But in that particular moment he was thinking about all the times he could have told him. Not everything; but something. He was wondering if he would have done it if Mike hadn’t taken him aside. He was wondering if Mike was right about how well Richie would handle it. He seemed to be right so far. But maybe if he’d found out differently… 

“Eddie.” Mike shook him from his thoughts. He stood near him as Stan paced across the chamber.

“Yeah."

“This isn’t your fault. I’m sorry.”

“It is.” Eddie said. “It’s my fault.”

“Alright.” Stan clapped his hands together. Mike and Eddie looked at him. “Let’s get this done.”

He went over to the hall.

“Guys.” He called. “Observatory. Let’s talk.”

Noises came from Ben’s cabin as Bev and Ben emerged. Eddie followed Mike and Stan up the ladder into the observatory. Bev and Ben were next, and soon they were all milling to and fro across the rug. No one was in the mood to sit. Bill leant against the bookcase by the couch. Bev kept an arm against Ben’s. While they waited, no one spoke.

“Where’s Richie.” Stan said after a while.

“I can-“ began Eddie.

“No.” Said Stan. “Don’t. Everyone hang tight, I’ll get him.”

Stan disappeared and the silence pressed down harder. Eddie kept his eyes on the rug. It was made of straw, each strand fraying; its dye rubbed down to muted shades of its original blue and green.

Stan’s footsteps passed under the hatch a few times.

“Guys.” He called after a little while. A few noises followed, the scrape of a crate against the ground, some material being moved. “Guys.”

“What?” Bill called back.

The door to the back creaked, then Stan was clambering up the ladder, flyaway hairs breaking from his usually pristine curls when his head popped through the hatch.

“Where’s Richie?”

***  
“You checked the storeroom.”

They were crammed into the main hallway.

“You were with me, Bill, we looked everywhere.”

“The airlock.” Said Bev. “Did we check for his suit?”

Stan looked at her, and then around at the others. Eddie was biting his lip hard. It was reddening under the repetitive pinch of his teeth. 

“You mean…” Eddie said. “You think he left?”

“He can’t have.” Stan said. “Where would he go?”

“We would have heard him.” Bill said.

Bev moved to the door.

“We have to check.” She said. “Why didn’t we check that!”

When no one moved she thrust her hands in the air.

“Come on!” She wound the wheel of the front airlock and disappeared inside.

“Is it there?” Ben asked from behind Bill and Mike.  
  
Bev came out again and pushed through them, making for the Back. She made quick work of the door and was gone again.

“Bev!” Bill called after her. Stan was first to follow her into the Back. The others joined him. “Was his suit there?”

“None of our suits are in there.” She said over her shoulder. “We moved them for Ben to leave earlier, remember?” Her voice muffled as she disappeared into the spare cabin. When the others made it to the doorway, she already had her mask on and was pulling a pair of thick rubber gloves over her hands. Once they were secure, she began to dig through the pile. She kicked the lead vests to the side and began to inspect the thick white rubber-lined suits.

“Bill's.” She said, tossing one beside her. “Mike’s.” A second. “Ben’s is in the other airlock.” She muttered as she moved another vest aside. “Mine. Stan’s.”

Then she pulled out a grubbier suit, with a visible gash down its side.

“Eddie’s.” She said shortly, shifting it to the side with the rest.

Mike looked down at Eddie. The two of them were standing towards the back. He stared straight ahead.

“That’s it.” Bev turned her head towards them. Her eyes were obscured in the shadow of the mask. “Could his be somewhere else? The bathroom?”

“I’ll check.” Ben said. He moved between Mike and Stan and his footsteps receded down the hall.

“If he’s gone, we’re wasting time.” Said Stan.

“What do you expect we do?” Bill said. “Run out there blindly and put ourselves in more fucking danger only to come back and find him hiding in the closet.”

“He’s not in any of the closets.” Bev said. She came out of the cabin and closed its door behind her. She nudged the mask up off her face. “I don’t think he’s here.”

“Where the fuck would he go?”

“The tower.” Mike said. The others turned to him. “I mentioned the communications tower, before. Maybe he went to find it.”

“This is bad.” Said Bev. “We have to go after him. Now!”

She ignored Bill’s protest, pulling out of his grip when he reached for her arm, and going back into the cabin. Ben came back, slowing to a halt in the hall. Stan raised his eyebrow in question.

“No.” Said Ben. “I checked his room too.”

“That settles it.” Stan said. He stepped forwards and turned to address the group.

“Ben and Bev and Eddie, you stay here. Bill, Mike and I will go up to the tower. We should get there before dark if we leave right away. If we go fast enough we can probably catch up to him by the lake. Or at least see him-“

“Woah, woah-“ Bev peeked around the cabin door, her white suit around her waist. “Did I hear that right? I’m not staying here.” she said. “He’s my fucking responsibility, Stan.”

“We are all each other’s responsibility.” Stan said. “And he needs you here, so if we’re wrong- if he’s somewhere else-“

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Bill thrust a hand through his hair, upsetting his streak of grey into spiky silver tufts. Bill once had ruddy brown hair. Thick. It fell to his jaw for most of college. The year before the war, he came to Stan’s birthday with a shock of muddy grey falling from a middle part. Richie was convinced for months that he’d been dying it. Once they all moved down into the bunkers after the bombs hit, they couldn’t avoid accepting Bill’s consistent claims that it just started growing like that.

“Stay calm.” Stan said.

“You are so full of shit Stan, stay _calm?_ Bill said.

“Hey.” Said Ben. “There’s no use getting upset at one another.”

“It’s okay.” Stan said softly. Bev came out from the cabin, suit zipped, gloves on and mask down.  
  
“I’m going.” She said. “Stay or don’t.”“Wait, wait.” Stan stepped in front of her as she reached for the airlock. They faced off for a second. Stan studied her and then held a hand up.

“Alright. Bev goes. Bill, Ben, Eddie stay. Me, Mike, Bev. That’s final.” He said when Bill opened his mouth.

“We can’t go in every direction at once. We go to the comms tower. We can radio from there. The long range will still work, right Mike?” Stan said. Mike, looking a little surprised to be called upon, nodded.

“It should do.” He said.

“I want to come.” Eddie said. Everyone looked at him.

“That’s not a good idea.” Stan said. “We don’t want to spook him.”

“Then Mike should stay behind, too.” Said Bill. “He’s the last person Richie wants to see.”

“We’re wasting time.” Bev nudged Stan aside and the airlock hissed open. “Whoever’s coming, suit up, now.” She turned to face them, suit squeaking as her legs brushed. The airlock was dark, the green light from the Back hall cast soupy shadows over Bev’s body.

“I’ll stay.” Mike said. He and Eddie exchanged a fast glance. “Eddie should go.”

“I’ll go.” Said Bill. “He’s mad at Eddie, too.“

“Bill.” Mike said. “He needs one of us to be there. One of us who can explain what’s going on. If he had to choose between us, my money’s on Eddie.”

Bill cursed. Stan glanced between them all and shook his head. He seemed, for once, at a loss.

“We’ve wasted too much time.” He said, already moving towards the cabin. “Eddie, you’re up. Take Bill’s suit, yours is useless. Let’s go.”

***

“I’m really sorry, Bev.” Eddie said. He couldn't concentrate on the forest stretching out either side of them. The birds in the trees, or the fresh air streaming through the filters of his mask. 

Bev half turned as she walked, like she'd forgotten he was behind her. 

“What? I didn’t hear you.” She put a hand to where her ear would be under her suit.

“I said I’m sorry.” He raised his voice. The wind whipped around them. Eddie held back the bubbling panic surging up his throat whenever dirt and leaves brushed over his shoes and blew around his ankles. He thought about his Geiger counter back home. The way he used to be fascinated by the way it clicked; by how devastating what it detected could be. 

“I, uh, I really appreciate what you all did for me; taking me in. I've been dumb. I didn’t ever want to hurt any of you.”

“Oh. Eddie.“ she fell back a little, walking in time with him. Stan remained up ahead, watching the skyline through the trees. It wouldn’t be long until they reached the lake. Eddie didn’t think he’d remember it so well. It had been a few months until he was dragged, arms propped over Mike and Bill’s shoulders, through these trees. It felt familiar though. It felt like he’d spend weeks alone here before they found him, not only a couple of days.

“You have to let everyone come around. We're all scared.” Bev said after a few moments. He breath was drawn out from the pace they were walking. Eddie had to almost jog to keep up. “We’ve all- Every single one of us has made mistakes. Some worse than others. Today is… ” 

Eddie nodded. He understood. 

“Yeah. I hope I can gain your trust back.”

“If you really mean that, I hope you know we're not the type to hold grudges. Not against friends.” She looked down at him, eyes sharp even through the misty glass disks of her mask. “For now, though, we all want Richie back safe.”

“Of course.” Eddie said. “Yeah.”

***

The lake was black, even beneath the blue-white sky. Even with the sun skittering off its surface, its depths were endless. It was serene, in the way that any lake in a forest is serene. Still. Reflecting the lightning-bare branches of the trees around it. It was imposing, too. Eddie wondered if it would still seem so ominous if he didn't picture his own cells, twisting and mutating, whenever he looked at it. Toxic soup.

They’d been walking for just over an hour and the sun was tipping into its final quadrant.

A cliff rose up sharply out of the water along the left side of the lake.

“That’s where we’re headed.” Stan pointed towards the cliff. “When we’re closer we’ll see the tower.”

The trees remained parted, revealing a long and patchy stretch of grass along the incline. There was no sign of Richie before the cliff obscured their view.

They pressed ahead, Stan in front, Bev a little behind him, and Eddie in the rear.

“Richie would have liked it here, if it was- If it was a vacation or something.” Bev said. Eddie double-stepped to get beside her again.  
  
“Yeah?” He said.  
  
“Yeah.” Bev said. “Even when we left Derry, he took a moment when we first found this place.” She motioned across the lake to the far bank. Barely a line of toothpick-trees from where they stood. “We came up from over there. It was a huge hill. Miles and miles through the forest.” She said distantly.

“We came around.” Her hand moved, following the curve of the lake. Eddie watched her. “Then-“ she motioned ahead of them to the stretch of dusty-beige soil lining the curve of the nearest bank. “The beach.” She said. “He went over there and said he should build a sand castle.”

“I bet Stan liked that.”

Bev breathed a laugh. It died fast in her eyes.

“Mm.” She hummed. “We didn’t stay here long. He’s probably only seen it once or twice in all these years.” Bev said. “Richie likes the water.”

“You guys used to swim? Back in Derry. Before?” Eddie said.

“Uh, a little.” Bev said. “There was a quarry. Way on the other side of the valley. We weren’t allowed to go there, but Richie was a little shit. Bill and me, too. Ben _hated_ it.” Bev said. She sounded, all at once, embedded in the memory. Eddie wished he could see her face clearly. He wanted to watch her; feel the shadow of what she felt back then. A small ginger girl with that sharp smile, trespassing in a quarry in the summer. Eddie used to dream about a childhood like that.

“He used to _yell_. ‘We’re not allowed up here, guys!’ He wasn’t scared.” there was a smile in Bev’s voice. “He just didn’t want us to get in trouble. There were these, like- God they were _sadistic-_ the guards around the site. We didn't care. We jumped off this big rock-face. Probably could have broken all our bones, if the water was a little shallower, but...” She shook her head. Leaves cracked underfoot as they made it further out of the protection of the trees and into the clearing.  
  
It was dizzying, after a few months beneath the dome, only the fragments of blue, purple or grey through the branches. Eddie found it hard to draw in a breath.

The ground began to steepen in front of them, only slightly. They followed Stan around the curve of the beach and up towards the cliffside.

“Richie loved it, though. He had kind of a hard time.” Bev said. “At school- not his grades! He’s so fucking smart, Eddie. I mean, you know that by now, I’m sure.”

Eddie nodded.

“Yeah. And he was good in school, too. He didn’t even try. It used to piss Billy off so much. He hated how hard he had to try- how much he had to read to do half as well as Rich. His mom got him tutors and everything. Sore fucking loser.” Bev said fondly. “But Richie didn’t see it like that. The kids hated him. Loudmouth. Loser. Glasses.” She shrugged. “His mom could be hard on him, too. She didn’t mean to be, I don’t think.”

“Mine, too.” Eddie said.

“Yeah?” Bev glanced at him.

“Yeah.” He said.

“So, where’s mom now?” Bev said. “Where’s home?"

"Uh-"

"How’d you get here?”

“It's a long story.” Eddie said.

“Eddie.” Bev said. “Come on.”

“It’s hard to explain, that’s all.” Eddie said.

“You said you wanted to gain our trust. This would be a really good start.”

“No, yeah. I know.” Eddie said hurriedly. “It’s, uh. It’s actually not that close.” He said slowly. “There are some efforts to, you know, help. After the war.”

“Efforts?” Bev said. “What do you mean? By your town?”

“Not exactly.”  
  
Eddie bit the raw inside of his cheek, thinking of how to best phrase it; how to break it to her. T

hey were up beside the water now, but it was falling away from the ground with every step as the cliff carried them around the lake. Eddie’s eyes drifted across the water and drifted up the cliff face beside them. The light was dying, a fierce orange flaring along the horizon. Eddie stopped suddenly. Bev noticed first, scratching at the back of her head with a gloved hand.

“Eddie-“ she said. “You can’t get out of it that easy.”

“Stan.” Eddie ignored her.  
  
“What?” Stan said. “You guys, speed up. We’re losing light.”

“No, Stan.” Eddie pointed down into the basin of the lake. “What’s that?” Eddie peered down the cliff face to a ledge just over the water. There was a small black shape on its corner of the ledge. Delicate frames. “I think those are glasses.” Eddie said. He let himself be manoeuvred away from the edge as Bev passed him. She squinted where Eddie had been pointing, and without hesitation got to her hands and knees.

“That’s not- is that blood?” Bev leant over the lip of the cliff.

“Get up!” Stan came back towards them and grabbed her arm. “Don’t get so close to the soil.”

“Stan, that’s fucking blood.”

“Richie.” She said. “What if he-“

“No.” Stan said. He looked down into the basin to the ledge, studied it for a moment, then stood back from the edge. “We don’t know they’re his. If they are, he may have dropped them. And…” Stan heaved a breath, it clicked through the valve of his mask. “If he fell in, we can’t help him. We keep going, just keep your eyes out.”

Bev and Eddie looked at one another as Stan turned away from the cliff face and pressed ahead through the long grass.

***

The radio tower was archaic. Breeze-blocks cobbled together with a lumpy looking mortar. It was all greys and greens under the canopy. The tower itself reached up into the sky, metal poles and rods reaching their fingers into the rapidly falling night. The sun had dipped well below the trees as they walked under the cover of foliage. The woods engulfed them fast at the top of the cliff.

There was a fence a few metres from the walls of the structure. It was chickenwire, most of which was torn or crumpled into the forest floor. Thin concrete stakes were all that were left intact, standing at intervals around the building. A generator sat to its side, not dissimilar to the one powering their greenhouse. It was wired to three tall stalks, thrusting solar panels off the forest floor and into the treetops. There was a huge dish angled off the side of the building. Eddie hadn't seen one of those since he was a kid, protruding off the roofs of older buildings on the south side of town. Families still using cable. 

“It’s on.” Stan said, the three of them stood adjacent to the gate, rusted off its hinges in front of the door. They all looked towards the generator, which was humming in the quiet of the woods.

“Could it have been on all this time?” Eddie said.

“Mike and Bill might have fired it up when they were last here.” Bev said. “The panels could have kept it going?”

“Come on.” Stan stepped over the threshold of the gate. They reached the door and Stan put his knuckles against its surface. It was metal, covered in heavy, peeling blue paint. He nudged it and, without touching the handle, it began to open. Light poured out over the overgrown path. Bev and Eddie looked at one another.

“Richie?” Stan said. He stepped into a tight hallway. The overhead light was off. The yellow glow was coming from another door ahead of them. Eddie and Bev followed Stan, and before either of them could do anything else. Eddie’s whole body tensed. He peered through the glass panel in the door ahead. There was the flicker of a screen, and in silhouette, the unruly shadow of a head of hair.

“Richie!” Eddie was through the door before Stan could react. It was a control room. There were four panels, teaming with dimly glowing buttons. On the far wall was a screen sitting on a cart piled with ancient electronics. Wires hung down over its sides like black vines.

The monitor was on. It was shifting between stations, and in front of it in a metal chair, was Richie. His nose was barely two feet from the screen. He had his hand on the dial. Eddie came up beside him. Richie’s other hand, as Eddie approached, was wrapped around his side. He was doubled slightly, slumped.

Eddie crouched down next to him.  
  
Richie’s face was illuminated by the screen, a deep gash stretching from his brow to his chin. Tears were shining on his cheeks. He seemed bare without his glasses. Blank. His eyes were wide and glaring with shimmery light.

“Richie.” Eddie said softly. Bev hurried over to them. Stan immediately walked through to the control panel and began tapping at the buttons.

"Honey, what happened?" Bev ghosted her finger beside his wound. Richie's arm moved from the dial, slowly, and raised towards the screen. It was old, the picture hissing as it flickered. He put a hand flat against it.

“The date.” He said, voice raw. Eddie’s stomach dropped at the thought of Richie crying. Maybe screaming, alone up here.

“Huh?” Bev leant down.

“The date.” Richie repeated. He turned another dial on the screen and the sound flared on.

“-biting thirty-seven degrees in the state of California. Yet another reminder to our communities that as we heal, the shockwaves of that awful day in our past will be felt for years to come. This was the weather report on United News. It’s one-fourty-five here in the golden state; Friday the Nineteenth of December. I hope you have a pleasant weekend. We'll be back with the traffic after these messages." 

Richie turned haltingly away from the screen until he was looking into Eddie’s eyes. Eddie didn’t know how well he could see, but he definitely felt Richie scanning him. Taking him in. 

“What year?” Richie said.

“Huh?” Eddie said.  
  
“December nineteenth of what year?”

“On the news?” Eddie asked, looking back at the dish cleaning advert flashing in bold yellows and pinks.

“December nineteenth.” He said, a crack in his voice, but his eyes still wide and glassy.

“Honey.” Bev said. “It’s just a tape. No one's making news. And there’s nothing to pick it up even if-“

“It’s live.” Said Eddie.

“What?” Bev said. Stan looked up from his panel.Eddie glanced between them and then his gaze fell back onto Richie.

“It’s today’s date, Rich.” He said. “December nineteenth. That’s today’s news.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for reading and for your comments. They keep me excited to write!!


	8. Tattoo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is literally so stupid but I got kind of disheartened over the weekend and I didn't want to lose momentum altogether so. Take it or leave it I guess lol .

Night fell fast outside the radio tower. The windows were boarded up with thick oak planks, but the dark pressing down through the cracks was tangible. The glow of the monitor and the million buttons cut through the stale air with a new definition.

Stan got in contact with the base without too much trouble. He let Ben know they’d found Richie, and that they’d all be back in the morning. Then he set to work scrolling through the frequencies on the giant left hand panel. Eddie didn’t ask, but he figured he was trying to make contact with someone- anyone- else.

“I’ll explain everything when we get back.” Eddie said quietly to Bev. Once the shock of finding Richie wore off, she took up a hard line of questioning. Eddie wanted to answer, but Richie’s distant look- and the tear tracks cutting sticky pink tracks down his face

Bev opened her mouth, a look of determination in her eyes, when Richie doubled over in the seat between them.

“Rich, honey, what’s the matter?” She said.

“I lost my glasses because I fell. I tripped on a rock.” He said. “Looking over the lake. It was onto my side- but it was okay- It wasn't that bad- Fuck.” he doubled over harder, arms tightening around his middle. 

“We should get his mask back on.” Bev said to Eddie. He got up at once and went through to the entryway. He squinted through the dark and saw it hanging on a rusty hook by the doorway. He rolled his eyes at Richie and hurried back to the control room, mask in hand. Richie was on his side on the ground, eyes squeezed shut and both arms wrapped around his middle. Stan was crouching next to Bev.

“What happened? What’s the matter?” Eddie said, his heart thumping against his ribs.

“I don’t know.” Stan said. He put a hand out for the mask, and made quick work of getting it over Richie’s face. “He’s not- he’s not answering.”

“He shouldn’t have taken it off.” Stan said.

“Well, it’s not what’s doing… this.” Bev said. “Rich, can you talk to us? Where you fell? Was it bleeding? Is that what hurts?”

Eddie backed away, jolting to a stop when he collided with a control panel. Richie’s hand scrabbled around at his side.

Bev was making to the zip of his suit.

“Stop!” Stan said. “Look, there aren’t any rips. It’s safer to leave his suit on and wait until we’re clean-“

“Stan.” Bev said. “He’s already had his mask off for hours.”

“The dust- If he’s wounded-“

“It’s fine. It’s sheltered in here. We might need to… do something.”

“And what exactly are we going to here?”

Bev raised an eyebrow and after a moment Stan relented. Bev made quick work of peeling back Richie’s suit and reaching gently for the hem of his shirt. He was pliant, but his breaths were coming short. Eddie watched, rubber gloves stopping his nails from carving crescents into his palm.

“Rich…” Bev scanned Richie’s back and then her eyes fixed by his waist. She moved him gently and Stan followed her gaze. Eddie inched forwards to see over the crest of Richie’s back.

“His tattoo.” Stan breathed.

“Oh, God.” Eddie said.

An uneven spray of reddish welts had risen around the small circle of black ink; rising out of his scar and spreading across his back in harsh clustered arcs.

“We need to get him back.” Bev said. “Now.”

“We have to wait.” Said Stan, looking pointedly away from Richie’s back towards the boarded up window. “At least a few hours.”

“Sunrise.” Bev said. “Latest.” Stan nodded sharply and got up. Eddie felt like he was watching the scene from somewhere else. Like he was watching yet another dramatisation from the safety of his studio apartment in Chicago.

“Rich.” He said, the streaks on Richie’s face tugging him, bit by bit, back to the present. “It’s gonna be okay.” He went back over to Bev, who was reaching down Richie’s front to zip his suit back up. Richie’s eyes were tight shut.

  
“Fucking- hurts.” Richie said when Eddie got nearer.

“We’ll fix it.” Bev said. She sat up abruptly and turned her face away so Richie wouldn’t catch the water pooling in her eyes.

“We’re gonna fix everything.” Eddie said.

***

Morning broke in painfully slow increments across the sky. Richie had grown more lucid as the night went on, and eventually he could sit up. Finally, to the sound of Stan scanning through radio frequencies and Bev watching the looping news from the California station, he fell asleep on the ground. Eddie kept a safe distance, but his gaze didn’t drift far from Richie.

Once it was light enough to confidently see one foot in front of the other, they set back out into the woods.

“You know,” Bev said after a moment. “Mike shouldn’t have kept this from us, but I’m not entirely surprised that he did.”

“Oh?” Eddie said. Stan was up ahead with Richie over his shoulder. He was more chatty when he woke up. He dismissed the marks on his back with a couple of off-colour jokes about STDs, but he didn’t argue when Stan put an arm out to guide him along the uneven grass.  
  
“If there was something weird going down with the bases in Derry, it would have been the commanders, right? They would be the ones hiding stuff.” Bev said.

“I guess. I don’t know.”

“You know I said yesterday, Richie had kind of a hard time as a kid?”

“Yeah.”  
  
“He… I think he had a really hard time in general, to be honest. He never got out of Maine. He was with a girl he didn’t like that much- he tell you about her? Stella.”

“He mentioned her, I think.” Eddie said, feeling nauseous as Anthony Perkins floated through his mind.

“After everything… happened. Richie changed. We had this commander- Brunswick. He was actually our bunk leader. I don’t know if that’s an official thing, but it basically meant he was the dad of our cell, which was about fifty people. Ex military. Hard-ass, for sure. The type of guy Richie would usually fucking hate; but he was obsessed with him. He followed him around like a kid; did anything he said. I think, in some ways, he liked the routine. He liked that we were all in there together. We had to be a team or we’d all go insane or kill each other.”

“So… if he thought this guy was doing something shady…”

Bev shook her head.

“If you’d asked me a month ago, I might have predicted this reaction to a T. Or worse. It hasn’t always been easy for us out here.”

“Of course not.” Eddie said.

“No, I mean, even by end-of-the-world standards. There used to be a lot more fighting. Your room used to be Bill’s. He used to live on a whole different time zone, basically, so he could stay out of our way. Then for like three months last year me and Ben- It’s embarrassing.”

Eddie shrugged a shoulder.  
  
“Me and Ben thought we got a transmission through on the radio. No one would listen to us about it so we tried to barricade them all out of the observatory. We were in there for days with all the radios.” Bev said. Eddie laughed, then Bev joined in. Soon they couldn’t catch their breath, laughing together on the cliffside.

“Could you two keep it together until we get back, please.” Stan craned around as best he could with Richie over his shoulder. Bev and Eddie sobered fast. “And one of you help me this stupid stick insect is heavy.”

“Sorry, yeah.” Bev put a hand to Eddie’s shoulder briefly, then strode ahead to dip underneath Richie’s other side. His head was hanging low as he limped along. Eddie was left staring out over the water. Its expanse taunting him as he remembered the crate of water bottles waiting for them at the bunker. Their last supply.

“Take it easy.” Eddie called after them impulsively. 

***

“What were you thinking?” Bill yelled when they got back to base. “What the fuck was your big plan, Richie? Oh…”

Bev pulled Richie’s mask off him as the airlock door opened. He was pale, his eyes struggling to remain open. They shed their suits and left them by the hoses. Ben and Mike were already in the hall. Ben rushed over to close the airlock behind them. Eddie and Bev supported Richie past them towards the chamber.

“What happened?” Mike said. Stan was already bustling around in the spare cabin. He waved Mike over and began talking in low tones.

“Do we have water?” Bev asked.

“Yeah.” Ben and Bill followed them through the door to the front. “We went through everything and counted.” Ben said. “We had a whole crate in the basement, so that’s seventy-five bottles. Then we found another fifty-odd around the store.”

“That’s something. Can we get a little, now. We walked…”

“Of course.” Ben turned back as Eddie and Bev took Richie into the chamber. They deposited him into the recliner and immediately knelt either side of him. Bill stood a little ways back, eyes glued to Richie’s pallid complexion.

“Get his shirt off.” Bev muttered to Eddie, pressing a hand to Richie’s forehead. “He’s not warm.” She said. “God this is so weird.”

“What the fuck is that?” Bill said as Eddie gently coaxed Richie’s arms over his head and tugged the material bit by bit off his back. He folded the shirt and wedged it beside Richie on the arm of the chair. The red rash was angry, and tighter than before- raised off his body in an uneven lump.

“Shit.” Eddie said under his breath.  
  
“Have you ever seen something like that before?” Bev asked. She put a finger on the pale, unaffected skin on Richie’s side. He winced.

“Don't hurt him.” Eddie said automatically.

“It wasn’t this big yesterday. There was no swelling before, just the rash.” Bev sat back on her heels and peered into Richie’s face. He looked back at her and then closed his eyes.

“We need to ask Mike.” Bill said. “I… is it the tattoo?”

Richie's black half-moon was stretched out over his back, almost reaching his spine. The bow and arrow misshapen by the swelling.

“It can’t be.” Bev said. “You don’t get an infection years and years after. Besides, we all have the same ones. Mine's fine.”

“Mine, too." Bill said. "Maybe he cut it?”

“There’s no puss. There isn’t even a wound!” Said Bev.

“It doesn’t look like an infection.” Eddie added. 

“Honey.” She said to Richie. “How do you feel?”

“Just stellar. Real good.” Richie said weakly.

“Be serious, jackass.” Bev tapped his knee.

“We need to do some reading for Richie.” Stan was in the doorway with Mike. “Ben's handling water. We have the encyclopaedia and the medicine app on the tablet. For now, get it clean and get him comfortable.” Stan said. “Bev, Ben, put him into his cabin. Eddie, wait here. I think it’s time we got some answers from you.”

Eddie didn't protest as he watched Ben emerge with a water bottle and cloth, and as they cleaned him and carried him from the chamber. He didn't follow like he wanted to. He sat in silence with Ben at the kitchen table and waited for Bev and Bill to return. 

***

“So… “ Bill said once Richie had been laid down in his cabin, and Mike and Stan had disappeared into the observatory.

“-when Mike said there were other options, he neglected to include the part where ‘other options’ means half of the fucking country is currently living normal lives while we all rot?” Said Bill.

Eddie was sitting across the kitchen table from he, Ben and Bev. The weight of the last twenty four hours was bearing down on him. He hadn’t slept up at the communications tower. The sound of Stan’s voice, repeating their location over and over again and only receiving static in response, was bouncing around his skull like an echo.

“No, Mike didn’t know that.” Eddie said after a pause to organise Bill’s question in his sluggish mind. “I never told him. He suspected there were more survivors. That was all, along with some other stuff about your town, but-”

“So _you_ were still keeping secrets?“ Bill said. “After everything.”

“No! Not at all. There was… a lot going on yesterday, it- it all went so fast. I didn’t want to drop another bomb- sorry,” he winced and pressed his fingers into the bridge of his nose. “That’s a bad turn of phrase. I was absolutely going to tell you everything. I swear.”

“Well it hardly matters, now.” Ben said. Eddie had never seen his mouth turn downwards like that. It made his stomach turn. “How far does the damage go? From the war.” He said.

“That’s the other thing.” Eddie said. “It was less of a war than a… How do I put this?”

“What are you talking about?” Bev said. "There wasn't a _war?_ How the fuck do you get an A-bomb attack if there's no war?" 

“This sounds ridiculous, but we still don't fully know.” Eddie said. “The government is still rebuilding itself. The school of thought at the moment, though, is that it was dropped by, um, us.”

“Us?” Said Bill. “Us, who?”

“Our government. The old one.” Said Eddie. “Onto DC.”

“That isn’t possible.” Said Bill.

Eddie shrugged.

"Power reset button." Eddie said. "It's the theory. No one came forward. They can't do an investigation until they can get back to ground zero. Another five years at least." 

“So.. _if_ that was true, how many bombs did they... we drop?” Said Bev.

“Just one.” Eddie said. “On the capital.”

“Just one.” Ben repeated, his voice weak. "There was only one?" 

“And where were you?” Said Bill.

“Chicago.” He said. “I’m actually from here. Maine. Old Maine, I guess. But I moved to Chicago when I was a kid. It’s actually the last, um, Safe State.”

“Safe state?”

“Yeah. The Safe States are outside the worst of the fallout.” He said. “We don’t really call them that anymore. There’s just ‘America’ and then the exclusion zone.”

“And where exactly is that?”

“The whole East Coast.” Eddie said. “Up until about Illinois actually. The wind was blowing mostly South that day, so it was a pretty neat cut for the worst of the radiation. Uhm, The border’s kinda like through Michigan, Indiana, Kentucky, Tennessee, Mississippi. Worse in the southern ones, obviously.”

“Border?” Said Bill.

“What border?” said Stan.

“Oh. There’s a sort of border between the Safe States and the exclusion zone. It’s patrolled and stuff. Not that many rescues happened because of the radiation. But now, since it’s been five years, some of the fringe states got opened up for rescues. That’s how I got here. I came to help… I don’t know why. No one else I know signed up, but I always felt like I should have been here, I guess.”

“So you were a rescue team?”

“Pretty much. We were meant to recover anything we could. Help anyone we found.”  
  
“And you managed to get lost?” Bev said. “What were you doing up here in the woods anyway?”

“We were searching in five-kilometre bands. This was the furthest we were gonna go that trip. We reached the edge and I heard voices.” Eddie said. “I wanted to investigate. They wouldn’t turn back. We hit our limit- which is actually more like five hours, not three, by the way.” Eddie said. “And they had strict rules. I… It sounded like someone was in trouble.”

“So, what? You separated yourself form your group?” Bill said.

“I guess I thought they’d wait.” Eddie said. “I never found them; the voices I heard. If there ever were any. Maybe they were right and it was the wind. I don’t know anymore. I thought they’d come looking for me, but if they did it was after you guys found me. I don’t think they were ever coming.” Eddie said.

“And you trusted us enough to come with us, but not enough to talk to us.” Ben said.

“Ah.” Eddie said. He looked to his lap. “Um. A lot of the military efforts to help communities were… they went wrong. Mike knows more about this part than I do, I think. All we were told when we were volunteering was, if we got separated, or if we were unarmed, never talk to anyone we found.”

“Why?” Bill asked.

“Some… places.” Eddie said carefully. “Some survivors were- you could say, hostile.”

“What?” Bev said. “Hostile to help?”

“It’s like Mike said yesterday. There was a lot of control to be gained when the government abandons you.” He shrugged. “There were some horrible stories, that’s all. Some people took it further than others. I wanted to be safe.”

“But you were here for almost three months.” Bev said. “You must have realised we would’t hurt you for, what? Your accent?”

“It just got harder every day to think about talking to you guys.” Eddie said quietly. “Explaining. It was cowardly. I know. I liked not having to talk. I kind of liked not having to be known, too. If that makes sense.”

“This is insane.” Bill said, turning away, hand in his hair.

“I’m sorry. I really mean it.” He said. “I’d do it differently if I could.”

“It’s okay.” Bev said. “It’s not your fault, Eddie.”

***

“Hey.” Eddie said. Light from the hall fell short of Richie’s cot. "You alive in here?"

Richie turned over. Eddie’s stomach crawled at the sight of him, sweat across his forehead and hair stringy over his pillow. "We're sorting out some water rations soon; from the bottles. I'll bring you yours when Stan and Mike tell us how much we can have." 

“Eds.” Richie said. His voice was a shadow of itself.

“Shh.” Eddie came into the room and closed the door behind him. He flicked on the switch and the small orb beside the bed came on, bathing them both in warm orange. "Don't talk. Are you okay? Just, like, nod or whatever?" 

“I missed you.” Richie said instead. His eyes were dark and ringed with grey in the darkness. Eddie hovered. "I'm such a jackass. I'm sorry."

“Huh?” was all he could conjure. 

“I know.” Richie closed his eyes and exhaled what might have been a laugh. Eddie came over and sat on the corner of his bed. “I’m fucked in the head.”

“No, I- what?” Eddie said. “Just… relax, okay. We don’t have to talk about anything now.”

“Ever since you got here-“ Richie continued. “It was like. Fuck, man. I feel like an idiot.”

“Richie, don’t say that. I missed you, too. You know why I was avoiding you, right?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Richie said. “I don’t just mean- I didn’t think about the future until you got here. It seems appropriate, doesn’t it? The universe stepped in and sniped that shit just when it seemed possible.”

He shook his head, nylon sheet rustling quietly.

“Rich.” Eddie said, a thick lump rising in his throat. “It’s not over. They’re working on it, we all are. We’re gonna have a future.”

Richie let out a long breath and turned onto his side. He swore under his breath.

“Hey!” Eddie said. “Stay still.”

“Get back out there.” Richie said when their eyes met. “Nag someone else. Those fucks need some eye candy to keep morale up, anyway.”

“Shut up, you shit.” Eddie nudged his thigh. Richie smiled, just a little, and his eyes drifted closed again. His face was settled into a pinched look of discomfort.

Eddie bit hard into his lower lip, watching the sweat beading on Richie’s skin. Slowly, he edged up the bed, laying himself down beside Richie. His eyes snapped open when Eddie pulled his legs up onto the cot.

“Eds- careful! we don’t know if this thing could spread.” He said, pressing himself back against the cabin wall. Eddie put a hand gently to Richie’s forehead, sweeping his hair back off his face.

“Well then everyone else is gonna have to work double hard to figure out how to fix it for us both.” Eddie said.

“You’re fucking dumb. I’ve seen you throw up over Stan getting a hangnail. I basically have some mystery super-disease, you do realise-”

“Shh.” Said Eddie. “Rest.”

Richie closed his mouth obediently and watched Eddie for a long while. Eddie looked back, letting his eyes drift over Richie’s face. He took in the curve of his cheekbone, and the hollow below it. He rested his hand in the dip between Richie’s collarbones, feeling the heat roll off him; reassuring Eddie that he was alive. They were both still alive. Eddie shifted until he was resting his head on the crook of his elbow. Richie's hand came up gingerly and brushed the hairs on Eddie's forearm. Then he exhaled. He let the weight of his hand rest where it fell- their shin touching, and his eyes finally closing again. Eddie kept watching him, barely blinking; watching for the rise and fall of his shoulder, taking in the minute brush of his breath against Eddie's knuckles. 

“We’re gonna figure it out.” He said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I warned you it was gonna be a slow burn btw


	9. East or West

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's short it's all I can manage today I think.

Richie woke up to a burning pain along his side. He couldn’t remember whether it was better or worse than the day before. His thoughts were slippery. Merging together and blurring like static against the insistent press of the pain.

He thought he remembered someone next to him as he fell asleep. A burn in his chest thinking about him.

He got off his cot with a significant amount of effort and focussed very hard placing one foot in front of the other until he reached the chamber. His vision had a cloudy haze around its outer reaches.

“Richie.” Bev said. She sounded far away. “Honey, how are you feeling?”

“Something’s wrong.” Richie said. He tried to make it to the table, where Bill, Mike and Bev had some apple slices spread in front of them.

“What is it?” Bill said. “Do you need something.”

Richie collapsed against the leg of the armchair. He thought about getting up, but decided his best bet would be to stay put. The room was swimming.

“I don’t know. Feels weird.” Richie said.

“You’re sick. But you’re going to be okay.” Bev said.

“Bill.” Mikey said quietly. “What if he was right.”

“Hey!” Bev turned around. Even with reality fraying at the edges, Richie could sense her indignant expression. He’d been on its receiving end enough times.

“Who was right?” Richie said slowly. His mouth struggled to negotiate its way around the letters.

“It’s nothing, bud.” Bill said. “Mike’s-“

“The old man.” Mike said. “The old man by the lake told us something about our tattoos. I forgot about it until you got hurt, but-”

“We went over this yesterday, we _all_ have tattoos.” Bill said. “Rich, why don’t you go back to your cabin. Bev can help you get washed?”

Richie slipped off the arm of the chair and into its ragged seat. He closed his eyes as a wave of pain ripped up his back and into his shoulder. He shook his head, it was all he could manage. He could feel the darkness sloshing inside him, rising up and ready to pull him back under. It had been like this since he fell. Lucidity breaking over him in waves, then he was sucked back down into a place in his head. Not asleep, but not awake. He was going there again.

“I-“ he tried.

“Richie?” Bev’s voice was disembodied. He thought he felt her hand on his upper arm, but he was lost again. The pain was abstract, something happening around him. The darkness was bigger. It was everything. He couldn’t hold off any more. He gave into it again.

***

“He’s out.” Said Bill. Bev was shaking Richie’s shoulder and repeating his name. “Leave him.”

“What’s doing this?” She stepped back. “It can’t be good for him to be passed out like that. Mike, are you sure there was nothing in your books?”

“No.” Said Mike. He and Bill were on their feet now. “But I told you-“

“I don’t want to hear about the tattoo again.” Said Bill. “It’s a waste of our time. Where’s Stan?”

“In the airlock. Still showering.” Said Bev. She pointed to the thick pipe over their head, which was still rushing softly. “Thank god for run-off water, huh? I could probably give Richie a shower while he’s out, if Ben helped me-”

“No.” Said Mikey firmly.

“Huh? Surely it’s better while he’s out? He’s in too much pain otherwise. It’s good for him to be clean.”

“Don’t move him.” Mike said. “If there was something in his tattoo-“

“Mike!” Bill said. “Enough with the tattoo. I’m fucking serious. We’re wasting time we could be spending figuring out how to get us- all of us, not just prince Richie over there- out safe.”

“Nice, Bill.” Bev said. He looked at her like he might try and defend himself, but he shook his head instead and headed out of the chamber. “Look, Mikey.” Bev turned to him. “I hate to say it, but Bill has a point.”

“Fine. Fine.” Mike said. “I understand. But please don’t move him. He doesn’t _need_ to be washed, and if it is some chemical in his system it's better if he stays still-“

“It’s not a chemical! He’s sick, and it's bad, but that's all.”

“Bev. For me.” He said. They stared at each other, their tiredness mirrored between them. "What do we have to lose?"

“Okay.” She said. “Yeah, fine. Okay. Let’s go help Eddie and Ben with the water.”

***

“Half a bottle each per day.” Stan announced when they were all in the chamber again that afternoon. “And we have just about three weeks of water. The more sparingly you go, the better. But Richie-”

Everyone’s eyes drifted to the armchair. Richie was still sleeping. Or unconscious, at least. Eddie watched the sluggish rise and fall of his chest like a hawk from across the room.

“-needs to be taken care of. The quicker we make a decision about where we’re going, the better. Plus if we start walking we’ll need more hydration per day anyway.”

“Is he okay?” Eddie said. It was the third time he’d asked. Bev gave him a look like something was occurring to her. Before Eddie could open his mouth, Stan cut in.

“He doesn’t have a fever. His heart-rate’s stayed strong as far as we’re aware. He’s breathing. It’s probably a virus of some sort. The best we can do for him is get him help.” Stan said. “That’s where you come in, Eddie.”

“Me?”

“Well, you know the most about the way things are out there.”

  
“Yeah, but we got dropped in the middle of nowhere by helicopter.” He said. “The nearest place I know anything about is literally Chicago. And even then- I’m not in the military. We didn’t have any clearance on anything important. I have no training beyond first aid and I’m- fucking useless.” He said.

“Okay.” Stan said shortly. “Not that helpful right now.”

“You and Mike didn’t come up with anything?” Ben said. “You were locked upstairs for like eight hours.” His arms were folded over his chest. He wasn’t upset. Ben was never upset, just concerned. Bev looked up at him with something heavy in her eyes. Eddie was realising that, out of everyone, Bev was the hardest to interpret. Even Stan, who was perpetually stony, had tells. He had consistent patterns in his ‘happy focussed’, ‘frustrated focused’ or ‘annoyed focussed’. Bev was nice. She was always kind to him, and patient with the others, but he wasn’t sure what she was really thinking.

“I told you this morning. We were focussed on Richie last night. I could’t make contact with anyone from the radio tower yesterday. No one reachable from that tower means definitely no one within walking distance.”

“Or they were there and they didn’t respond.” Eddie said. Mike nodded.

“Either way.” Bill said from the corner. He’d been quiet since he came in for the meeting. “No good to us.”   
  
“So our options-“ said Stan. “Are Derry, where we know there were people once, and might well be a spare bunker-“

“Which we can’t get into.” Said Bill.

“Or we push further West towards New Hampshire.”

“That seems stupid.” Said Bev. “New Hampshire is over two hundred miles away."

“And Eddie said the exclusion zone reaches right out to Michigan.” Ben said.

“I’m not suggesting we go _to_ New Hampshire. But there might be more towns in between. More people. Or another rescue mission like Eddie’s.” Stan said. “Bill and Mike always found the most debris out towards Etna, right?”

“Sure, but that’s no guarantee.” Said Mike.

“And we couldn’t even get Richie half way to Etna.” Bill added.

“Holy shit, we’re fucked, aren’t we.” Said Bev. “This is it.”

“No.” Said Stan. “It’s not. I think we’re decided, aren’t we?”  
  
“On what?” Bill said incredulously.

“Well, we all think it’s too risky to bet on there being any help out West. So we go to Derry.”

“Excuse me, but weren’t you categorically against Derry less then two days ago?”

“Our situation has progressed.” Stan said. “If we had three weeks to sit around and mull it over, sure, but look at Richie!”

Everyone did. Eddie’s knees prickled when he saw him. It was a strange sensation. He always used to get it if he saw something gory on TV, or if his mom described some of the symptoms he would contract if he caught her Disease of the Day. A sharp spike around his knee joints, branching up into his thighs if it was really bad.

“And what’s the plan?” Said Bill. “We get him to Derry, it’s deserted and burned to the fucking ground and we still can’t help him. Plus we’re all over-exposed and exhausted and we die in the middle of nowhere like animals?”

“We have to try something.” Said Stan.

“I agree.” Said Ben, a steady sadness in his voice. Bev leant her head against his bicep.

“Bill, I think it’s our only choice.” She said. He looked at her, then over to Richie again.

“Shit.” He said.

“We vote, then.” Said Stan. “Ready?”

Bev stood up straight. Eddie edged forward on the bench. He’d never voted on anything of consequence at the bunker before. He wished now that he didn’t have to.

“All in favour of Derry.”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Bill said. “If Richie can’t walk how the hell are we going to get him down there?”

“Wheelbarrow.” Said Eddie.

“Huh?”

“That cart in the basement. I think you guys had, uh, those battery packs on it for the radios? It’s basically a wheelbarrow. It’s better than a trolly, actually! Because it only has the one wheel… on the terrain.” Eddie trailed off.

Stan blinked at him and then nodded curtly.

“That’s a good idea.” Stan said. “We’d have to do that wherever we go.” He said pointedly at Bill. “We’re not leaving him here.”

“I never said-“

“So, let’s vote.” Bev said. “All in favour, right?” She raised an eyebrow at Stan.

“Yes.” He said. “All in favour of Derry.”

Ben and Bev raised their hands, then so did Mike and Stan. Eddie watched Bill as he raised his own hand. Bill looked around at the others.

“That’s a majority.” Stan said. “You really don’t want to try Derry, Bill?”

“No, yeah.” Bill put his hand up reluctantly. “I guess I just wish there was another choice.”

“Don’t we all.” Said Bev. “Okay. Now that’s decided, what do we need to do to get ready? I want to leave before dark.”

***

Watching his new friends say goodbye to the bunker was a blow Eddie hadn’t been prepared for. Ben and mike had handled a lot of the packing and organising while they’d been at the radio tower. Packing up supplies for the walk into kit bags was relatively fast with the six of them working on it.

It was mid afternoon when Bev left Eddie alone in the chamber with three crates of canned produce and all their bedsheets. She was going out to the greenhouse to collect what she could for their trip. Ben and Mike had consolidated the remaining seed packets and packed them in their two knapsacks. Richie had a backpack in his cabin, too, which was going to hold the radios.

Eddie was wrapping up the canned provisions on the chamber floor. Stan had taken the can opener in his pocket so they didn’t forget it. Stan was amazing like that.

Every few moments Eddie looked up at Richie. Every few seconds he was met with the same sight. Richie’s head tipped to the side against the couch, his nostrils flaring lightly when dust motes drifted past him. His chest still rising and falling. Still breathing.

Eddie finished wrapping the last two cans side by side and folded them into the sack he’d made out of their sheets. Gingerly, he got to his feet.

“Hey, Rich.” He said. “I don’t know if you can, uh, hear me. Fuck. You’re not in a coma, what am I saying?” Eddie blinked down at Richie. “Wait, you better not be in a coma, motherfucker. This is… this sucks.” Eddie approached the chair and lowered himself gently onto its arm. Richie stayed still, arms in his lap. Richie never slept sitting up. He couldn’t, he said once. He told Eddie that he’d once been on a thirty-six hour car ride with his parents and was up the entire time in the back while they took turns napping in the passenger seat. He said he saw aliens as they drove across Nevada. Eddie told him he’d been hallucinating. Richie argued. Eddie liked how much Richie argued with him.

“I wish I could help you.” He said to Richie’s closed eyes. “I guess you don’t know this, but my whole childhood was working up to something like this. I could be a doctor, I’m pretty sure. I know every disease back to front. I’ve had panic attacks over the intricate differentiations between two types of sore throat. What I’m saying is I should _know_ this.” He said, driving a knuckle into the worn material at the back of the chair. It was dusty to the touch.

“But I don’t.” He said. “The only time my bullshit could have helped someone and it can’t be you. It’s not fair.”

Eddie took a shaky breath. He had to hold it together. He wasn’t about to let Stan or Mikey see him like this. He’d had a good run of it. So many people across the united states had suffered unimaginably over the past five years. Many millions had fought hard, been brave, and survived against all odds; just like everyone in the bunker; when Eddie would have curled up in a ball on that very first day and let himself perish.

“I didn’t know it was possible-“ he said. Just a disconnected thought floating from his head outloud. He used to wonder, on those first nights at the base, what he would do if Richie could hear his thoughts. It was a stupid idea, but he’d think about it for hours. He wished, now, that he could make him; could cram his thoughts through his ears and make him understand. “We’re gonna solve this.” Eddie said. “If anyone can it’s you guys.”

Richie’s eyes were closed. His face was relaxed, but with a glinting sheen of sweat highlighting its pallor. Eddie bit his lip.

“I didn’t think it could be like this.” Eddie said softly. “Knowing someone like you. It hasn’t been long, has it? But you know me, Rich. I think you knew me before I said a word. No one’s done that before. No one’s made me really _want_ to be understood. Or... maybe I did always want that.”

Eddie looked across the chamber, thinking about his job at an insurance firm, his girlfrined; who he remembered with a wave of shame that he still hadn't told Richie about. He wanted to tell Richie everything. If he could do it all at once, right now, he would. 

“But I didn’t know it was possible. You showed me it is. I don’t know what you’d think of all this, I guess.” Eddie said. He had a hand out, making to smooth back the tangles in Richie’s hair. 

“Eddie. Let’s go.” Stan was in the doorway. Eddie jumped to his feet. “Ben’s bringing the barrow up from storage now, you can go pack up the veggies and radios with Bev and then we’re out.”

“Yes. Sure. Okay.”

Eddie wiped his hands down his overall and looked down at Richie.

“You better make it, I swear to God.” He said softly as he picked up two of the sheets full of aluminum cans. He winced at their weight. “These are gonna be rough to carry.” He called to Stan, who was already half way into the Back.

“We’ll make it work.” Stan replied over his shoulder. His voice echoed against the concrete walls.

Eddie hoped he was right.


	10. Interlude i

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry guys I know this probably isn't what you wanted, but it's all I've been able to motivate myself to do. Life stuff is a little intense right now! Breaks between chapters might get a little longer going forward. I'll keep you posted :)

**Interlude i**

Richie’s bedroom was small, but it was the first place which had ever been completely his own. It had peeling paisley wallpaper and most of the window was obstructed by a chunky AC unit. He did his twenty-or-so hours a week of studying under a tiny lamp on a desk covered in old comic books, ornaments he bought at the pop-up market, and lots and lots of ash trays. The rest of the time he waited tables and slept through all his morning seminars.

In senior year he also managed to wedge in Thursday evenings at Derry’s only improv class. He almost abandoned the whole thing on the first day. It was full of high-schoolers. He found out pretty quickly that it was founded by a new drama teacher at Derry High. The sophomores were very eager to keep Richie from his smoke break to bitch about how they were being forced to attend to make up extra credit.Richie always told them he was pretty sure that wasn’t allowed, and they’d give him the response he probably would have given a stringy-looking twenty-something if he was in their position. A shrug and a bold request to bum a cig.

He never let them, but he decided they were okay; as high schoolers went. He could always sympathise with people forced into places they don’t want to be.

He probably could have moved out of the apartment by the time he finished college. He could have upgraded to one with a newer kitchen, or a toilet that flushed ninety percent of the time, rather than the loose seventy five percent.But he didn't. He'd done more growing up between those paisley walls than he had in twenty years in his parents’ home.

Plus, all that stuff about ‘comfortable patterns’ Stan would drone at him. He knew where all the chips were in the baseboard. He could get to the kitchen in the night and grab a bag of Goldfish without turning on a light. He was used to the sounds, and the feel of the loose boards under his bare feet. So on the day the flash of light burned out the sky, and the old weather sirens started to wail across Derry’s low rooftops, Richie was heading out of that same apartment- his first and last- for the final time.

***

Bev’s last place of her own was pink. ‘Very pink’, Stan had remarked at her housewarming party. ‘Like someone jizzed pink milkshake up in here!’, Richie had added.

She liked how her boys fit in her new place. And they were _her_ boys. For as many times as her dad- and uncle, cousins, stupid high school friends- had tried to make it seem like the boys owned her, she knew better. More importantly, they knew better, and they showed her all the time.

Derry, it seemed, was determined to pin Bev down as a shared property. Communal but also stateless. Belonging to others, but owning nothing, not even herself. And she believed it in some small part of her, for a long time. She fought with Richie in high-school once. A bad one. He slung his arm around her neck one morning in homeroom and jokingly called her ‘my girl’. He couldn’t understand why she’d skipped the rest of the day. He would’t apologise. Not until a long time later when they were high and weepy and just slightly more grown up.

When they all went their separate ways for college, she realised something totally new. Bill was all the way across the country, Mike at the farm in Florida, Stan and Ben at their apprenticeships upstate. But in summer, they all came back. During her semester, they always called. And the day it clicked, she was coming back from the library with an armful of Fine Art textbooks. It was a bad day. The librarian hated her, and made sure to be as unhelpful as possible. She’d missed the last bus. It was bitterly cold and her cardigan was thin.

And when she approached her dorm, which she shared with a roommate who had disdain for everything Bev loved, Richie, Bill and Stan were standing outside, shivering in the beginnings of a slushy rainfall and holding a banner between them covered in pink and red poster-paint hearts

It was Valentines Day. She hadn’t even remembered, and they’d come- Stan and Bill from hundreds of miles away- to celebrate with her, because when she was twelve it was her favourite holiday.

She took the banner upstairs to her dorm, but she didn’t put it up on the wall like she wanted to. Her roommate wouldn’t like it. Her roommate was a girl called Bert. Bert was okay, in all. Before Bev knew better, she thought Bert was the coolest person on the planet. She was tall and quiet. She thought fashion and design were the stupidest thing on the planet. Most of all, as her defining characteristic seemed to be that she hated pink. Bev joined in, hiding the majority of her coursework under her bed, and scoffing with Bert over the free sample fashion magazines from the lobby.

Bev and Bert didn’t keep in touch. And the banner, for all Bev’s searching, got lost in her move home.

In her new kitchen- her own one, years later- Bill and Mike wrestled each other over the chunky throw on her soft white couch. Richie put a curious finger up to her hanging plants. Stan picked out a book from the shelf over her combined washer dryer and made towards her bedroom to read. And then there was Ben, peering into a drawer to find the knives because he was making dinner. She knew by then. It had settled over and around her, engulfing her altogether like a warm river. They belonged to one another. She _was_ theirs, really, but they were also hers.

And she loved the colour pink. She mourned it a little, after she left college. She’d abandoned such a bright and beautiful section of the color palette for so long, never including it in her designs or collections for school. Never wearing it. 

One fiercely cold winter, a week or so after she'd been fully moved in, a barista forgot to leave the marshmallows off her hot chocolate. Waiting for the bus down by the bridge, she looked down into the sugar, melting and merging together in fluffy, lumpy, sticky patterns. She watched it swirl away between sips as she waited for her bus.

Pink was sweet. Pink was good. And now, Bev’s apartment was pink.


	11. Back to School

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no clue if this makes any sense so let me know! Sorry lol. I wrote it PAINSTAKINGLY like one para at a time over the past couple weeks .so . anyway :)

The trip was harder than Eddie had thought. It ended up being a three person job to keep the barrow upright with Richie inside. He was still knocked out as they pushed up past the lake, around the opposite side from the day before. They each had a pack on their backs, Eddie's was half his size, and he could barely heave it onto his own back. Ben helped him, heaving it off the floor while Eddie slipped his arms through the straps. They carried what they could. Food, water and medical supplies. Enough to last a week or so. They left the rest at the bunker. The plan was, if they failed, they'd try and get back and have a fortnight of water leftover so they could think of a new plan. 

They had old torches and two or three spare batteries each. Stan had one mounted on his head. Their beams swung through the tree trunks.   
  
Eddie muttered to himself over and over, a plea to the universe that they didn't need to go back to the bunker. That Derry had survivors, and that they were welcoming, and that they had water, and that they could help Richie. The list of demands got longer and more ridiculous the longer they walked. By the time the hill began to level above the lake, Eddie was picturing Derry as a whole secret civilisation in a bubble, away from the radiation and flourishing.

As they crossed a small clearing at the top of the lake, the radio tower poked up over the trees to the west, a small red light flashing on its tip. It plunged a sick feeling deep into Eddie’s stomach. Or maybe it was the radiation, finally building up and splitting his cells in new and fatal ways. That thought slipped underneath his absent imaginings. It was a panic tapping at the back of his eyes and clawing at his stomach. A well in the centre of his head. A tank of putrid water just out of sight, below his reels of colourful fantasies about Derry. The well could break any moment and poison him. He took a deep breath and followed Bev's heels. 

***

They reached the lip of the valley as the sun broke behind them. They were in unfamiliar forestland, and Eddie was exhausted. He finished his turn pushing Richie, with Bev and Ben steadying its sides. A hill crested up ahead, breaking the downward trek they'd been on for the past few hours. The trees had been thinning, too. Eddie was numb. He kept putting one foot in front of the other, listening to Bill crank his wind-up torch, and the sounds of their feet snapping twigs and crunching through dead leaves. The beams were beginning to fade in the morning haze.

Orange tones fell through the sparse trees, lighting the bare branches ahead, and tipping itself like syrup across the valley unfolding beneath them.

“There it is.” Said Mike gruffly, coming to a halt at the edge of the final hill. “Welcome home, everyone.”

Eddie had to look closely, but there were buildings nestled in the distant crease of the valley, a streak of black and brown reaching down their middle like a scar.

“Looks pretty burned up to me.” Bill muttered. Stan hushed him. They hadn’t talked for most of the walk. At one point Mike and Bill got into an animated discussion about directions, but Ben’s muttered warning about bears shut them up. Eddie was happy with that. He was so deep in his mind, that even the pounding ache that developed in his heels, and the pull of his muscles tensing in the cold, didn’t dent it.

“I bet it was pretty.” He said absently, forgetting, really, that he could be heard.

“It wasn’t.” Bev said. “Not like you’d think.”

“Let’s keep going. Another hour and we’ll be on the outskirts. Good progress, guys.” Stan said. He tapped Bill on the shoulder, motioning to take over the handles of Richie’s barrow. He’d floated into consciousness about halfway through the journey, and began insisting he walk.

“Even if you weren’t sick, you’re as good as blind.” Bill had snapped. It was a solid argument, so Richie sat in the barrow, sometimes with his eyes closed, and sometimes peering around at the dark woods. Eddie imagined how much of a blur it all was for him. He bit his lip and followed the others down the slope, where they were tracing a diagonal path through the fallen leaves towards Derry.

***

“This is weird.” Said Ben, putting down the barrow as they stepped onto asphalt. They stood, the three of them, at the edge of a half-built street. Old bollards marked the end of a construction zone. Behind them, a dust track winding back into the trees. Buildings rose up either side of them, ahead of the bollards. There was some smoke damage painting black smudges over the brickwork, but the structures very much standing. Even the wooden sills were intact.

“This is the far edge of town.” Bev said. 

“Where are we heading?” Said Eddie.

“North-western quadrant.” Said Stan. “That was our bunker. We’ll check the central one on the way, see if there are any signs of life.”

“Ugh.” Bev put a hand on her stomach. “I don’t want to do this.”

Ben put a hand on her shoulder.

“Mm.” Stan took a step froward onto the street. The first street he’d been on in years, Eddie remembered. He bent over suddenly.

“Are you okay, Eddie?” Ben said.

“I’m fine.” Eddie said quietly to the ground. “Tired.” And he was, but he also felt sick. He felt sick thinking about his apartment in Chicago, the expensive suits he wore, the figures he tapped out every day and sent off to agencies who decided just how much people's lives were worth; just how much their rescue might damage the bottom line. 

“Enough.” Said Stan. “Let’s go.”

Wheeling Richie was easier on flat ground. Ben could keep the barrow upright on his own. Now the sun was streaming down more confidently from over the hills, Richie was blinking around again. Eddie kept his eyes on the street. For some reason, he hadn’t through they’d really make it. Or, he hadn’t thought there’d be anything to find. When the others had talked about the fire damage, he imagined a town smudged right off the face of the Earth. He remembered all the stories on the news, on 60-Minutes, about in-fighting in survivor colonies. Of civil wars. Of just how pointless rescue missions were, when the survivors didn't want to be saved. 

He coughed sharply. Bev looked back at him and he gave a thumbs up. His pack was weighing hard on his shoulders. He took a step forward, and then another. 

They turned down street after street. Buildings were standing. Doors were still on hinges. Sometimes they had to make a U-turn to avoid a fallen tree or a crumbled patch of street, but for the most part Eddie could easily imagine customers milling around in the empty supermarkets. Kids playing on the swing-set in an empty lot between the auto shop and the dentists’ office. He imagined Richie here, grabbing lunch in the diner. Filling up his car with gas. Eddie had never asked Richie what car he drove. 

"Ben!" Bev said suddenly. "Wasn't that where Mrs. Jones caught you stealing?" She was pointing at a small bookstore. Ornate painted flowers spilled up across the wood-panelled top. Its right-hand half was charred, the flowers bitten in half by a jagged black line. 

"No!" Ben said. "I was not stealing! Mike told me kids could borrow books on the first shelf. He set me up."

"I did not." Mike said. 

"Yes you did!" 

The closer to the centre they got, the more everyone began to pitch in with stories. Places they remembered. A pharmacy they went to as kids. An old arcade, defunct long before the bombs fell. A friend’s house from elementary school. Eddie heaved deep breaths through his mask. Richie stayed quiet, even though he seemed more alert than he had the past twenty four hours.

Finally, they reached what looked like the town hall. The damage was worse here. Some stores were entirely crumbled, like they’d been blown out from the inside. Bricks were scattered across the street in increasingly sizeable chunks. Mortar dusting the whole place grey.

“In here.” Bill said. Eddie only noticed the others had stopped behind him at the sound of his voice.

He turned back, they were looking at the charred door of the town hall.

“What’s this?” Eddie said.

“It’s… This is it.” Mike said.

“Your base?” Eddie said, voice hushed for no real reason.

“Eddie.” Richie said weakly before Mike could answer. Eddie rushed over to his cart. Ben put the handles down with a sigh and stretched.

“Rich? Hey. Are you okay.”

“Don't talk to him.” Bill said. “Richie, shut up.” He put a hand gently on Richie’s shoulder. “We’re getting you help, bud.”

“No, this isn't ours. This is the other base.” Mike said at last. “We’ll check in here first. If, uh- if there's nothing here we'll head over to North Quad. ”

Mike looked around. Bill looked back at him. 

"So?" Said Bill. "Let's go in." 

“There’s no need for us all to go.” Stan said. His face was pale. They were all dehydrated, only allowing themselves a sip or two from the bottles they were carrying since they left the bunker.

"I think it should be me." Said Bill. "Me, you, Mike?"

"I can come." Said Ben. Bev had her hands on her hips. She stayed quiet. 

"No." Said Stan. "Me, Bill, Mike. We'll check it out."

Stan looked briefly at Eddie, before nodding sharply and turning around. He motioned for the others to follow. They dropped their packs beside Richie's cart.  
  
"Eds?" Richie siad. He put a gloved hand to his mask. Eddie stepped towards him again. 

"Hey, buddy. Leave that." he put a hand over Richie's hurriedly. "We're going to your base." he said. "We're in Derry."

"I can see that." Richie said moodily. A laugh burst out of Eddie before he could stop it. Ben looked down at them with a crease between his brows. Stan, Bill and Mike had disappeared into the town hall. 

"Yeah?" Eddie said. "Didn't think you had the gear to see stuff?" 

"Oh, I've got the gear-" 

"Rich, you should relax." Bev said. "Breathe slow. Stay still." She was adjusting her pack. Ben lowered his to the ground as well. Eddie watched Richie. "We're gonna get you some help, soon."

"How are you feeling?" Eddie crouched beside him, pretending to pull at his pack toggles. He didn't actually want to take it off, because he wouldn't be able to get it back on again. The pain in his heels was thumping up his calves. 

"I don't know." Richie said. "Eds-"

The door was creaking over again and they all looked up. Stan was in the doorway. 

"And?" Ben said. 

Stan shook his head when as he emerged. Mike and Bill were quick to follow. The sun was melting frost off the rooftops now. 

“Nothing?” Ben said.

"The whole control panel was ripped off." Bill said. 

"Dust everywhere." Added Mike. "No one's been here, I don't think. Not since we- Not since." 

“Oh.” Said Ben. Eddie set his jaw and shifted his pack further up his back. He got to his feet, his knees creaking in protest. He felt the urge to put his hand on Richie's head. He resisted. 

“Let’s keep going.” He said. “We came this far.”

“Do you think there’s a chance any of them made it.” Bev muttered to Stan as he picked up his pack from beside her. 

“We’ll find out.” Eddie said. “Who’s taking Richie?”

He could feel Ben and Stan exchanging a glance. He ignored them and turned up the street. He started to walk as Bill and Mike secured their packs and mumbled to each other about the route. He stepped over a chunk of concrete and reached the junction a few yards up the road.   
  
“Which way?” He yelled behind him. His voice echoed off the husks of buildings. Cars with blown out windows were parked on the sidewalks. He looked past them. Bev was following now, and soon after, the squeak of the barrow resumed. 

“Right.” Stan said after a long moment. “Go right.”

***

They'd weaved their way through a quieter looking part of town. The fire damage tailed off again, and eventually the streets looked almost untouched. Quiet, but almost normal. They turned off a main-street and onto a lane lined by trees. They followed it wordlessly, up beside a field, and into a parking lot. Stan stopped them once they reached its centre. The ground looked sun-baked, snakes of tar lumped around cracks in the asphalt. 

“This is… a middle school?” Eddie said.

“Didn’t we mention?” Mike said darkly. He continued to walk, passing the others. They all followed and Eddie was left standing in the empty parking lot set ahead of a low-set brick building. It had ‘Derry Middle’ in rusted teal lettering over the front doors.

“All our district’s bunkers had to be on public property.” Bev said over her shoulder. “The high-school fell into a sinkhole a couple years before the war- or the- I don't know.“ she trailed off. 

Eddie ran to catch up. The sun was climbing higher and higher, and a sweat was building under his mask. He adjusted it with his shoulder. He hoped the seal was still tight.

“Was this _your_ middle school?” He said.

None of them answered. Eddie already knew the answer. He looked out over the field behind the barrier to their right. The grass was tall, with soft yellow tips brushing in the winter wind. Two soccer goals were half-swallowed by the grass. Beyond those, a gated-off sandlot, most of its red ground blown off in strange crescents, revealing grey concrete beneath.

He thought about Richie eating lunch under the bleachers around the sandlot. Bev stealing beers from dads' ice boxes on game days. Stan catching up on his homework on the bench outside the front entrance. All things Richie had told him about. The nausea was pooling thick in his gut. He looked over at Richie now. His eyes were closed again. Eddie couldn’t tell if he was asleep or not.

Bill was striding up to the front door of the school. Stan put a hand out to stop him from pulling on the handle.

He was opening his mouth to instruct him when a clatter rang out from behind the doors. They all jumped back. The six of them and Richie were in a row by the beginning of the concrete steps, looking up at the foggy glass.

Eddie’s heart rate had begun to settle when a shape shifted behind the glass. His whole body tightened. 

Something small and circular pressed up so close to the frosted glass that it became clear. It was the barrel of a gun. Eddie stepped back, but the others stood their ground.

“Announce yourselves.” Came a muffled bark. The gun clattered against the glass again. “Now!”

Bill stepped forward.

“Bruswick, is that you?” He said slowly. There was no reply from behind the door. The gun didn’t move. “It’s Bill Debrough. And the others. Pods C, F and N, minus Thilde she… she was never with us.”

There was a long pause, and then the gun withdrew itself form the glass. Eddie glanced over at Bill, then there was a click. The door swung open. A huge figure in head to toe black rubber and a full gas mask stepped into the light, gun nestled under his elbow and pointed squarely at Bill.

“Denbrough?” Said the man. Bill nodded.

“It is you, Brunswick.” He said quietly.

“How the fuck is this possible?”

Bill shrugged.

“You tell me, Cap, I thought the bunch of you were- we didn’t think anyone else would make it this far.”

The darkened visor was impermeable, but the man seemed to be staring at Bill for a moment in silence, then he looked over his shoulder. Eddie’s eyes skated behind him and saw a smaller person in the entryway. She was holding the door open and had a less sophisticated suit on. There was duct-tape at her sleeves.

“How many are left?” Bill said when there was no answer.

“We can’t let you in.” Brunswick said, something slightly more human to his voice. “You know the rules.”

“Fuck the rules.” Stan stepped forward. “Karl, come on. What fucking rules could there be?”

“You’ve survived this long you must have some rules of your own, kid.” Brunswick said. “The central base is empty. Why don’t you head over there. Set up shop.”

“We were just there. Is there water?” Bev said. Brunswick looked in her direction. “Karl.” She said when he didn’t respond. “There’s no water there, is there?”

“I can’t help you.” He said. The smaller person behind him shifted. “You’ll have to figure it out.”

“Richie’s sick.” Stan said.

There was another long pause.

“Sick how?” Brunswick said. The person behind him visibly sighed.

“Come on.” They muttered. He held a hand up.

“Sick how?” He repeated.

“We don’t know.” Mike said. He has rashes. He’s been in and out of consciousness. His tattoo-“

“What?” Brunswick took a step forwards.

“The area around his tattoo.” Mike said. “It’s swollen.”  
  
Brusnwick stepped forwards briskly towards Richie in the cart. Eddie shuffled closer to them both. He bent down and peered into Richie’s mask. Richie was still awake, Eddie could see him blinking back up at the shape through the glass disks in his mask.

“He can’t walk?”

“It seems to get worse when he’s mobile.” Mike said hurriedly. He shouldered up beside Stan. “We were concerned that it’s a-“ Stan elbowed him.

“We don’t know what it is.” Stan said. “Can you help?”

Brunswick’s visor reflected Stan’s stubborn expression back at him. He turned slowly, seemingly studying the others.

“Bring him in.” He said quietly. “You can’t come into the living quarters. And you can’t stay.” He said.

“Karl!” The person in the doorway snapped, holding an exasperated hand out. He ignored them.

Ben was already picking up the barrow.

“Thank you.” Stan said. “Guys.” He waved a hand at the others. “Let’s go.”

***

As soon as they were inside, Brunswick was on his radio.

“Wait here.” The smaller person said. They introduced themself as Cam. It didn’t seem like the others were familiar with them.

The hallway of the middle school was probably once teal and white, like the sign outside, but was now mostly a scuffed grey. The lockers leading down the corridor directly ahead of them were banged up and rusted, but mostly intact. It was dark, the frosted windows filtering most of the light. 

Brunswick vaulted himself, still suited, over the counter of what seemed to be the reception. It had a couple of office chairs and papers all over the ground. A pinboard hung on the expanse of wall behind. There was a door behind the desks and into a room with another panel of frosted glass set into the wall. 

He closed the door behind him, but the hiss of a radio was audible through the wood-panel.

They stood around, Cam watching them from behind their mask. Richie's head was lolling back on the barrow. He seemed to be out again. Before Eddie could take in much more of his surroundings, there was a clattering sound from the end of the hallway, and the repetitive whine of a squeaky wheel. At once, from around a corner, two people in yellow hazmats appeared wheeling a gurney towards them.

“What?” Eddie said under his breath.

“How many of you are there?” Stan asked Cam. They weren’t looking at him. Instead, they waved at the approaching figures.

“The one in the cart.” They said. “Gently. Code nine.”

***

Brunswick appeared again as Richie was carried, pretty gracefully, onto the gurney. his limbs were held carefully against his side, and his head was supported until it hit the pleather boards. He motioned, and the two in suits began to wheel him back down the hall. Eddie looked sharply at Stan, who was simply watching them. 

"Follow me." Brunswick said, and went back over the counter into the back of the reception. Bev looked to Mike, who gave a slow nod. She followed Brunswick, then the others followed. Eddie turned and watched Richie disappearing on the cart at the end of the hall. He told himself that Stan trusted these people. He had to trust them too, no matter how hard his chest was kicking against it. 

Cam followed them back through what was once an office. There were still two ancient computers, piles of papers, and filing cabinets. Through the back, in a small cupboard-like space with floor to ceiling double doors on its other side, Cam opened a hatch in the ground.

"Airlock's at the bottom." they said. "Make it quick."

Stan looked at them through their visor for a long moment. The others watched him, waiting to see what he would do. Slowly, he took his pack off and left it with Ben.

"Have these brought to us." he said. "Down the chute."

Cam nodded briskly and pointed at the hatch again. Stan took a breath, and he stepped towards it.

"It's fine." he said to Eddie quietly. Then, to the others, "It's fine!"

He was the first to descend. Mike followed quickly. Everyone else took off their packs and filed quietly down the ladder. Bev let Eddie go ahead of her.

The climb was fairly long, but Eddie’s head was moving too fast to register the solid concrete around him. He didn't feel his feet, so sore and aching, hit the floor. He barely noticed as they were passed through two different airlocks and hosed, before being left to dry in overalls left out for them in a locker-room-like space. They were moved once more, about an hour later, into a slightly less depressing, but equally dim room without windows. No one answered Eddie's questions about where Richie was taken.

There were futon-like couches on either plain wall and a clinical looking table in the centre. It reminded Eddie of a dentist office in a terrible part of town. Or an interrogation room. He pushed that idea from his head.

“Stan.” Eddie said after a while. He and Mike had been talking in hushed voices. The others were quiet. Bev was resting against Ben’s shoulder. Bill had been pacing for a long time, but was now sitting, eyes closed, on one of the foamy futons.  "You trust these people?" he said.   


Stan looked over at him slowly. 

"They won't hurt Richie." Stan said. "I know that." 

"Okay." Eddie said. He nodded once, then again. "Yeah, alright." 

***

The clock on the blank grey wall read 5:30 when a clattering sound made them all look up. A man, who Eddie quickly realised was Brunswick, appeared in the doorway, maskless. He motioned for someone on the outside to open the lock. They did and he came inside. He had a neatly trimmed moustache, and bushy eyebrows shading sharp eyes. 

"How is he?" Stan said, at the same time as Mike asked 

"Where is he?" 

"He's fine. Better, now." Brunswick said. "Simple anti-viral program and saline." he said. "We have pills he can take and he'll be just fine. We can house you tonight while he recovers, but that's all." he said. 

"Where is he?" Eddie echoed Mike. 

"You can see him soon." Brunswick said. "I'll get you some food, then you'll need to rest." he gestured to the futons around the room. 

"I want to see him." Eddie said as Brunswick headed back to the door. He glanced over his shoulder. 

"He'll be out soon." he said. Then he motioned towards the glass in the door, and the buzzer sounded, releasing the doors. Mike's eyes darted to the motion of his arm, and then up to the ceiling. Brunswick was going back into the hallway and looked at Eddie. Then his eyes moved over to Stan. He offered a nod, and then the doors were closing again.

"What the fuck?" Said Ben. 

"I know you guys like him, but something about that guy-" 

"Shh." Mike cut Eddie off. He motioned to the ceiling. 

"What?" Eddie said. 

"Mike, what's the problem?" said Bev. 

"Shh!" Mike cut his hand across his neck in a swift motion.

"Mike..." Said Stan.

"No." said Mike, a determination in his voice that Eddie hadn't heard before. He shook his head slowly. "No, Stan."

Stan and Ben looked at one another. Bev had a hand shelling her eyes, crouching by her pack, which had been delivered minutes after they entered the final room. 

***

It was the middle of the night, according to their clock, when the sound of the buzzer shook Eddie from a hazy nap. He jerked awake at the sight of two figures beyond the door. As the doors opened with a hiss, they appeared in silhouette over the chunky shape of a gurney. 

Eddie was on his feet before the others, and going over to them. The figures didn't get close to him, simply nodded as Stan and Mike began to stir, and they left Richie in the middle of the room and withdrew into the hall. The doors remained open, and they remained standing against the wall, watching. 

"Richie!" Eddie said. Mike and the others were up, now, and coming over. 

"Hey, Eds." Richie said quietly. "Guess you can't bump me off that easy, huh?" he said to Stan, raising an eyebrow. He looked tired. His eyes had deep rings around them, and he couldn't seem to keep them open for long. 

"Are you okay?" Stan said. "They- We don't know anything. A virus?" 

Richie made a motion akin to a shrug. His eyes found Eddie's and he gave a lopsided smile. 

"Baby." he said, reaching a hand half-way to Eddie's face. Bev put a hand over her mouth. Bill had his mouth scrunched in a muted look of distaste.

"Uh-" Eddie opened his mouth. Richie's fingers were hovering a little way from his chin. 

"He needs to rest." said one of the suited people who'd wheeled him in. "He's been given a painkiller."

"Is he okay?" Stan said. They didn't respond. Stan slammed a fist against Richie's gurney. Mike put a hand on his shoulder.

***

They decided to take turns sleeping. It was nearing morning when it was Eddie's turn. He hadn't slept since Richie was delivered into their room. The people outside had swapped shifts once. In hushed tones, Ben had explained that they didn't recognise them. They didn't recognise anyone so far besides Brunswick. Mike wouldn't let them discuss anything about the Middle School bunker beyond that.

Eddie sat by Richie in his cart. He'd mellowed in the few hours since he arrived.

"Hey." he said blearily.

"You should sleep." Eddie said, settling himself on the spongy arm of the futon beside him.

"Sleep's for pussies." Richie said, drawing out the vowels in the words like a teenager. A stupid idiot, Eddie thought. He felt another bout of tears rising in his chest. He took a deep breath to keep them from spilling. He was exhausted, and relieved. That was all. 

"You okay?" Richie said, frowning slightly. 

"I'm fine if you're fine." Eddie said with a deliberate shrug. Richie was still frowning for a moment, then he smiled. Like he couldn't help it. Like it was his default state. Eddie smiled back. "Hey. Let's talk about something else?" 

“Okay. Wanna make out?"

"Shut up." Eddie said. "Good to know you haven't changed." he patted Richie's arm, then awkwardly took his hand back into his lap. 

"Okay, okay, I have a real one. Do you ever think about getting back?” Richie said. “Oh-“ he looked at Eddie with the one of the slow blinks he'd adopted since he got back from- wherever it was they took him. “It hasn’t been that long for you, yet. I forget that sometimes.”

“I forget too, honestly.” Eddie said. “But yeah, I think about it.”

“The weirdest thing, for me-“ Richie said. “I was thinking' about it while I was all loopy, before. I don’t think I could ever have normal bedsheets again. Like, if I were to wake up tomorrow and the world is fixed, I’d have to drag an old sack from the fucking basement and use that as a blanket.”

“You think?” Eddie said.

Richie nodded.

“I know it. Black coffee too. Hated that shit before. Now I can never go back.”

“Maybe you’d get used to it. The old stuff.”

“Some of it, maybe.” Richie said. “What about you?”  
  
“No.” Eddie said. “Fuck no. I’d take it all back.”

“Nothing?” Richie said. “Nothing you found out here that you could’t leave behind?”

Eddie opened his mouth, looking down at the tangled curls of Richie's hair on his forehead. 

“Morning, all.” Brunswick was in the doorway. “My team inform me that Richie took well to our treatment. We thank you kindly for stopping by. You're getting ready to head out." 


	12. Barrowing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A very short and stupid chapter just to remind us all that this story still exists lol

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! but for how long?

“And you expect us to stumble out there and die?” Said Bill.

Bruswick stood ahead of him in the office with his arms folded. They'd been herded back out of the airlock, up the ladder, and into the stuffy office behind the school reception desk. Richie had been carted out the same way he came in, so they were waiting for him to come up in the elevator. Cam was back, and this time there was someone else with them too. She wore a mask, but it had been put on hurriedly- short brown tufts of her hair poked from its rubber rim. Brunswick did introduce her, but Eddie hadn't been paying attention. 

“I told you this wouldn’t be permanent." Brunswick was saying. "We’d be happy to provide you with some of our intel if it’ll help-”

“What? What the fuck good is _‘intel_ ’ if we can’t survive long enough to use it for anything. This isn’t the fucking-”

“Bill.” Stan said sharply. “Sorry.” He said to Brunswick, who nodded with something like a smile in his eyes. There was something knowing there. Like an inside joke Eddie couldn’t understand. Stan took a steadying breath.

“We’re all very grateful for helping Rich-"

"Old time's sake, huh." Brunswick said with a grin.

"Sure." Stan replied. "And we'd love to take any help you can give us.”

Brunswick nodded his chin at Cam, who briskly disappeared through the door. As they did, the rush of wheels on lino came from the hall. Richie, who had been brought up in the elevator the same way he went down, appeared on the gurney. This time, he hopped off on his own and joined the others in the office.

“We have some water we can offer you, as well. It was good to see you kids again. I wasn’t sure you’d make it.”

“Neither were we.” Bill said shortly. Mike stepped ahead of him.

“Karl, is there anything else you can tell us about what happened here that day?”

Brunswick shifted. The smile was extinguished from his eyes.

“Three years.” Mike said firmly. “We’ve been alone- we didn’t know-“

“Of course. Of course you have questions.” Brunswick said. “But there’s not a lot we know that you don’t. The whole town went up in flames and-“ he cleared his throat. “Those of us who could make it back to one of the camps did so. I can’t speak for the other camp, but we were well organised. We survived. Just like you.”

Mike stood ahead of Brunswick for a long moment before he broke his eye contact. Cam came back before anyone could speak again, two suited people in tow with a cart full of supplies.

Brunswick smiled at them all and clapped his hands together.

***

“Okay, is it me, or did that whole thing make no fucking sense?” Bill said as they crossed the parking lot. Ben was still wheeling the barrow, Richie’s supplies were crammed on top of the map, two manilla files of printed notes, and flasks of water Brunswick gave them. The water sloshed softly against the metal containers.

“Sh.” Mike said.

“This again, Mike?” Bill said. His patience was waring thread-thin. Eddie watched him from the side. It was becoming clear that Bill wasn’t _angry_ like he’d thought when he arrived. He had a short temper, sure, but it was down to stress and worry and love more than anything mean-spirited. Eddie understood that well enough.

Mike began bickering with Bill quietly. Eddie turned to Richie, who was walking at the back of the group. He seemed okay. Eddie tried not to watch him too closely. Bev passed them, and was reaching for one of the water flasks in the barrow when a voice from behind pulled them to a halt.

“Wait.”

The brown haired woman from the office was approaching them. She held the lower edge of her mask to her face as she jogged over, glancing over her shoulder as she did.

She reached them in the middle of the cracked parking lot and stopped. Stan stepped back past Richie to speak to her.

“What’s wrong?” He said.

“Patricia? It’s Patricia, right?” Stan said.

“Patty.” She said. Then she took a breath. “Listen, you should head for Newport.” She said, glancing behind her again. Eddie’s eyes followed her. The grey doors were lifeless.

“Why?” Said Bev.

Patty looked at her, and then back to Stan.   
  
“You should aim to get there for tomorrow morning.” She said. There was an urgency in her voice that Eddie didn’t like.

“Why by morning?” Ben asked.

“Newport’s beyond Etna.” Bill said, he exchanged a glance with Bev. “Like, way beyond. We’d be exposed for hours.”

“We can’t keep you here, but I think you should get there. By morning.” Patty said firmly.

Stan watched her closely for a long moment. Then he nodded.

“Okay.” He said. “Newport. It’s on the map?” He said, pointing a thumb at the rolled up paper in the barrow.

She nodded briskly and turned away.

“Good luck.” She said over her shoulder as she started to run back towards the middle school. The seven of them stood watching her until the door clacked shut behind her, and the building was still again.

Stan was the first to turn.

“Let’s go then.” He said, gears already turning under his golden hair. “Newport is… well, It’ll be rough going for a while, but once we get towards Etna we can just follow Route 2. There are three bunkers in Etna, anyway. We can break there for a rest and still make it before sunrise.”

“Hold on.” Mike said. They were all walking again, now. “I thought we were going back to base.”

“Yeah. We’re not actually considering this?” Bill chipped in from beside Ben. “Forget base. If we know there are bunkers as close as Etna, let’s just go there? What’s the fucking deal, Stan. Walking into some honey trap recommended by God-knows-who in Manson’s Lair back there?”

“Good one, Billy.” Richie said absently. He was standing straight, ambling along easily and looking to their left as they crossed onto the street and passed alongside the chainlink of the sandlot. Eddie hung back and fussed beside him, straightening his suit underneath his mask for him. Richie tolerated it. He didn’t seem to notice, really. Eddie squinted at his eyes through his mask trying to gauge how he was feeling about his recent medical intervention. Or about literally anything. He decided Richie was probably still a little high from whatever they gave him.

“I’m kinda with Bill on this, guys. Ben, too. Right Ben?” Bev said. Ben nodded, shifting his pack as he wheeled the barrow through a pothole. “We have no reason to trust those guys anymore. Brunswick, once, maybe. But he was weird as _fuck_ in there.”

“And he had the room bugged.” Mike said.

“What?” Bev said. Stan raised an eyebrow at him.

“When Brunswick left last night, he signalled for them to open the door, before he was anywhere near the window, and they did it.”

“So they saw him through the glass.” Said Stan dismissively.

“No.” said Mike. “His… minions were to the _left_ of the main doors. He was a good five or six feet in and there was no way they could see him at that angle. No way. I checked after he left. Someone was in a control room watching us. Probably the whole time. Listening, too, I’d bet.”

“Okay.” Stan said slowly. “Is that so surprising? We’re strangers to most of the people in there. They were always hot on surveillance.”

“You’re not weirded out by this at all?” Bill asked him. Stan shut his eyes and grunted something under his breath.

“No, really, Stan.” Bill pressed, tapping Stan’s chest with the back of his hand. “They’re _so_ into their privacy but they took Richie in out of the kindness of their hearts- then sent us on a trek to nowhere..”

“You know what, guys!” Stan came to a stop again. Wind kissed the tops of the trees above them. Their bare branches swayed. Everyone turned to him, except Richie, who was still looking over the fields. Eddie nudged him.

“I’m really not that surprised, and I actually don’t care. They saved Richie’s life-“

“Probably put a chip in his brain.” Mumbled Mike. Stan put a finger up to him.

“And for the record, Karl’s right. We’re all trying to survive.” Stan continued. “They gave us the help that they could, and sent us on our way. If they had something weird going on, they kept us out of it. For that, maybe we should fucking thank them and move on.”

“Microchip?” Richie said softly.  
  
“There’s no chip, buddy.” He whispered. Richie didn’t look convinced, but the others were still talking, so Eddie just patted his arm.

“Stan’s right.” Ben said. Bev gave him a look from behind her visor. “It _was_ pretty weird, but we’re out now. We’re all alive. And so…” he looked sheepishly at Stan. “I think it’s maybe best we keep it that way.”

“What does that mean?” Said Stan.

“Shall we walk and talk, guys?” Richie cut in which, to everyone’s surprise, was a deft input. Bev picked up the barrow from Ben, and they began to walk again. Eddie stuck to Richie's side as surreptitiously as possible.

“It means-“ Ben continued. “not jumping on the bizarre bit of advice a stranger gave us on our way out.” he said. “It’ll send us miles out from zones we _know_ from experience are safe. It’ll put us outside for another five hours today at the very least. I don’t like it. And, Stan, to be honest, I’m surprised you’re going for it. Out of all of us.” Ben said. Stan looked around for help, but wasn’t getting any.

“Wait.” Eddie said, right as Stan was drawing in a breath to speak. Everyone turned their eyes on him. Even Richie tore his eyes from the grasses in the field. The sound of their footfall was loud in the quiet.

“Well?” Said Bill.

“What if she knew something they didn’t?” Eddie said after a moment.

“Like what?” Mike asked.  
  
“I don’t know.” Said Eddie. “But she looked nervous, didn’t she? She followed us out- whatever it was, she couldn’t say in front of your friend.”

Stan took a deep breath, a pained look crossing his face.

“I think-“ he said, eyes on the asphalt and words considered. “We’re at a point where it might pay off to take a small risk.”

“Small!” Said Bev, at the same time as Bill and Ben made noises of varying discomfort.   
  
“It _is_ small.” Stan said firmly. “Relative to our situation. If they wanted to drug us, attack us, _steal_ from us- whatever- they could have done that. We were locked in their basement for almost twelve hours. I think Patty wanted to help. I trusted her.”

“You trusted her.” Bill repeated blandly. “Knows her less than twenty minutes and he trusts her. You know, when I write a character like that, Stan, they usually don’t last that long.”

Richie chuckled and Eddie squeezed his elbow. A silence stretched amongst them.

“I think it might be worth a shot.” Eddie said. Stan glanced at him, and then Mike.

“Mikey?” He said. Eddie couldn’t make out his expression- the light was dappled over his visor in all the wrong places.

“If we’re careful.” Mike said. “Maybe we should consider it-“

“Oh, of course.” Said Bev.

“You know what!” Richie cut in. Eddie looked up at him, a warm calm in the centre of his chest at the sound of his voice- so much stronger than the day before. “Let’s all take a leaf out of Stannie’s book and chill out for a while, huh? I, unlike you fellows, have had a lovely break- but it hasn’t escaped my attention that the last couple of days have been a literal living nightmare. Hmm?” He looked around and was met with a couple of tepid nods of agreement. Eddie had a hand at Richie’s elbow again, Richie spared him a glance and it made his insides squirm.

“We’re headed out West either way, correct? So either way we need to get onto Route 2 and we’ll pass Etna?”

Mike mumbled in the affirmative, and Richie nodded exaggeratedly.

“Right. So some advice from- against all odds- the clearest and most beautiful mind here; is to shut the fuck up, drink a little water, and _walk._ ”

“Yeah.” Stan said after a moment. Bev was nodding again, too. “We vote at Etna?” He said. The others, some more grudgingly than others, agreed. Then, falling into relative quiet again, they kept walking.

“Good work.” Eddie muttered to him as the two of them fell towards the back again. Ben and Bev trudged along together. Mike was ignoring Richie’s orders and talking softly and quickly to Stan, and Bill was striding ahead with his chin pointed forwards.

“Some of my best. Maybe they slipped me some of those super powers I’ve been wantin’” Richie winked at him, the glass over his eyes glinting as he turned his head towards the sky. Eddie smiled at him. _No_ , he thought. _It’s just you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave me some comments to fuel me lol need some encouragement to get this going again 
> 
> (also, me vs. the urge to start some sort of Space AU fic)


End file.
